if I could tell you
by Nova802
Summary: Nine years after high school graduation can Puck and Rachel find their way to each other despite the very different and unexpected paths that life has taken them on?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A few months ago I read a terrific piece written by the wonderful FF author, joker to the thief. While 'when the stars go blue' is admittedly quite angsty and I normally love my fluff like Puck loves waffles and Rachel loves Babs, something about it caught my imagination and I found myself imagining a future for her versions of Puck and Rachel that I couldn't quite let go of. With her permission, this story is the result. **

**Puckleberry, naturally, but it's a long road. **

* * *

><p><em>Time will say nothing but I told you so,<em>  
><em>Time only knows the price we have to pay;<em>  
><em>If I could tell you I would let you know.<em>

__excerpt by WH Auden__

* * *

><p><strong>if I could tell you<strong>

* * *

><p>Rachel looks down at the scrap of paper clutched in one sweaty hand and then back up at the row of buttons along the entryway to the building. Scanning the names, she shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, wishing that her tank-top wasn't sticking to her back and that her hair wasn't scraped back into a messy ponytail, and wondering if it's worth trying to do something about that before she presses the buzzer to his apartment.<p>

Which she's going to do.

Any minute now.

This is _crazy_, this is _insane_, she doesn't know what she's doing here on the doorstep of a man she's spoken to exactly _once_ in nine years, especially not unannounced at ten o'clock at night.

Or fine, she does, of course. She knows exactly why she's here, she's clutching the answer in her arms, all thirty-five pounds of him. Connor's cheeks are flushed and marked with dried tear-tracks, and he's making little mumbling complaints into her shoulder and no wonder, it's _hours _past his bed-time and he doesn't understand why he hasn't had a bath or a story or his song, or why his bunny is stuffed at the bottom of the backpack slung over her shoulder. (He probably also doesn't understand why he isn't in the little white house around the corner from Grandpa Burt and Grandma Carole and five blocks away from Grandpa Ben and if nothing else about leaving Lima hurts, that does break her heart a little.)

She doesn't know what she would have done without him.

He's been amazing this whole time, spending hours in the station wagon without much complaint, singing cheerfully (if inaccurately) with her to songs on the radio, stretching his little legs at each interstate rest stop, and cuddling up next to her in the mediocre motels that her carefully planned budget could stretch to. The radiator blowing in that tiny town 300 miles out of San Francisco almost sank the two of them, but he even saved her there, charming the tow-truck driver with his excitement and curiosity so much that the man refused to charge them. Unfortunately, the mechanic didn't feel the same way, but even five hundred dollars in parts and labor later and with exactly $27.92 left in her wallet, Connor's enthusiasm was still infectious and all she could think about is how close they are to this new life she's determined to carve out for them.

But an hour ago, when she finally pulled up to the tiny apartment in the Fillmore district that she put first and last month's rent down on sight unseen, she's forced to admit that all the enthusiasm in the world isn't going to salvage this situation, at least not tonight.

The building itself is all right, a tidy brick low-rise, sandwiched between a tiny Japanese restaurant and a laundromat, but when she half pulls, half carries Connor up the stairs to the third floor, her heart sinks all the way down into her stomach. The apartment itself is filthy, with years of accumulated grime on the floors and she can't even bear the thought of putting the air mattress she has packed away in the trunk on it. Only about half the light bulbs work, but it's enough to show the cracked window in the back bedroom, with shards of glass on the sill. Worst of all, the deadbolt is completely gone, with the last tenant apparently relying on a chain that's hanging by one screw.

There's just no way she can do it. Connor _cannot _sleep here. Not tonight, not with the apartment in that condition. And even if she knew of a decent place to stay, her credit card is maxed out.

Which brings her back to the doorstep of the only person she knows with-in a thousand-mile radius.

She takes a deep breath and presses the buzzer firmly once, and then after a long pause, again, all the while muttering _pleasepleaseplease_ under her breath.

"Yeah?" his voice crackles through the intercom. It's not particularly friendly, but stupidly, she feels her knees go a little wobbly with relief.

"Noah," she says, the awkwardness of the situation momentarily forgotten. "It's Rachel. Rachel Berry."

She startles herself a little, saying that, because _Berry-not-Hudson_ is still relatively new and Connor squirms in her arms.

"_Rachel?_"

He's surprised. Of course he's surprised, so it's ridiculous to be disheartened by that.

And it's at this point that her son has finally had enough and lets loose with a wail that she knows from experience is only going to grow in volume and intensity until he's either comforted or distracted.

For just a moment she rests her forehead on the cool glass of the door and wishes she could cry too.

* * *

><p>He's fucking pissed at the interruption to be honest. He doesn't make a habit of bringing home work, but he's got a side-project that he's been working on, and his days in the studio are just too busy with the shit he actually gets paid to do, so he's running a bunch of takes through a sound editing program on his computer to at least get a rough cut sorted out. The door buzzing barely registers with him, and then when it sounds again he mostly just wants to tell whoever it is to fuck off.<p>

"_Noah..._"

And shit, he knows who it is instantly, he'll recognize that voice when he's eighty. But here's the thing: he _listens _for a living now so he doesn't think he's making up the exhaustion and anxiety he hears in her voice, even in a few short words, and he automatically tenses up. When the baby starts crying, he's out the door and halfway down the stairs (hell no, he's not waiting for the elevator) before he realizes he didn't buzz her in. Five flights down and he skids to a stop at the door and yanks it open and there she is on the steps, looking harassed and tired and beautiful.

She's holding the sandy-haired boy with her eyes who's gulping deep sobbing breaths of air while clutching a stuffed bunny and he looks around for Hudson. There's no trace of his former friend but he's not really thinking about Finn any more because Rachel's got him pinned down with her big brown eyes.

"Noah, I need your help," she says simply.

He can't formulate a response, just holds the door open a little wider and scoops up the backpack at her feet.

He gets them both upstairs; he's carrying her backpack and he'd carry Connor too, (not a baby, gotta be what? Three by now and he looks solid) if he thought either of them would go for that. With a little coaxing, she sits down on the sofa in his living room, while he tries to get his head together and goes through his kitchen cupboards looking for the box of herbal tea he's almost sure his mother left there on her last visit three months ago.

That shit doesn't go bad, right?

He takes a chance and throws a bag in with some hot water and when he heads back into the living room, Connor is fast asleep on Rachel's shoulder, his small hand knotted in her shirt. Placing the mug on the side table, he sits down on an ottoman in front of them both.

"It's good to see you, Rach. What do you need?" he asks quietly.

She flushes and her hand which had been gently stroking Connor's back stills.

"I need a loan," she says, "Just a small one, and just for a couple of days until I can get my finances in order. Things haven't gone quite the way I'd planned." She gives a wry half-smile. "I'm sure that doesn't come as a surprise."

Well, fuck. He doesn't think much has worked out for her like she thought it would, hell, like _anyone_ thought it would. And it certainly doesn't explain what she's doing 2000 miles away from Lima with only her boy and a backpack.

"If you need money you can have it," he says seriously, "but if you're in some kind of trouble, I want to know about it."

Connor shifts in her arms and they both hold their breath for a moment, unwilling to wake him, waiting until he sighs and nuzzles more deeply into Rachel's shoulder.

She starts again. "I think...I think I'm getting myself out of trouble. There's a job. I'll be teaching general music and vocal technique at a private school in Pacific Heights..."

Hold on. Pacific Heights like in _San Francisco_? Like _here_?

"...when the school year starts in a few weeks. Emma Schuester recommended me to an old friend there and I sent out some recordings and some sample lesson plans and I'm in. And there's an apartment that I've rented. The agency mailed me the keys and I was supposed to get into town this afternoon, but we ended up having car trouble and when I got there tonight, Noah, the apartment was just horrible, absolutely nothing like the picture. It's filthy and the locks are broken and we just can't sleep there tonight."

Fuck no, they aren't going to. His skin is fucking crawling at the thought of the two of them alone in some dive in the middle of the night.

"So if it's possible, if you have it, I need to borrow enough money for us to stay in a motel for a few days while I clean it up and get the locksmith in. And I can pay you back. I don't have the money this second, but I have a check from Burt and Carole and one from Daddy to deposit as soon as I set up a bank account here."

With the mention of Burt and Carole, crap is starting to fall into place and he's staring at her hand on Connor's back, the left hand, the one _without a fucking wedding ring_.

"Finn?" he almost croaks.

She dims visibly, and he wants to kick himself. "No. He's not in the picture."

"Shit, Rachel. I'm sorry." (_Liar._)

She nods and he can actually see her pulling herself together (he's seen that exact face before a thousand times, maybe every damn day of high school) and there's just no way...

"Look, if you really want a motel, I'll help you, but hear me out. Connor's out like a light, and you don't look too far behind him. Stay here tonight. I've got a spare bedroom that we can set the two of you up in and shit's been slow at work lately, so tomorrow I'll take some time off and we'll take a look at your place and make a list of what needs to be done. You still like lists, right?" He blurts it all out in what seems like a single breath.

She blinks. "I...are you sure? Truthfully, the thought of waking him up again is_ not _appealing, but I don't want to put you out."

"Yeah, you and a two-year-old are going to take up all kinds of space there, fun-size," he scoffs, smiling, and it strikes just the right note because she smiles back, a real smile.

"Don't forget, what we lack in height, we make up for in volume," she says mock-threateningly.

"I'll chance it," he grins.

She leans forward, but before she can stand, he asks, "Can I take him?"

At her agreement, he carefully lifts the sleeping boy from her arms and leads the way through the apartment to the spare bedroom. Once there, Rachel pulls back the covers and tucks his stuffed animal under one arm while he makes himself useful unlacing shoes and pulling them off.

He watches her smooth Connor's hair back and bend down to kiss his forehead and you know, he doesn't want to intrude, (plus there's this ache in his chest, which he's totally fucking ignoring because it's useless) so he goes out and grabs some clean towels for tomorrow and a glass of water in case she gets thirsty in the middle of the night.

He returns and sets everything down, saying quietly, "Bathroom's across the hall and I'm the next door down if you need anything. Help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen."

She turns towards him and hugs him fiercely. "Thank you, Noah. We appreciate it so much."

It's like second-nature to tighten his arms around her for a second, but then he pulls back, setting his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Any time, Rach. You'd do the same." He can't help but laugh when her response to this is to yawn in his face. He pushes her gently. "Go to sleep before you fall over." She yawns again, murmurs a sleepy '_good-night_', and crawls into bed beside her son and he thinks she's probably gone before he shuts the door behind him.

He heads back to his computer and prepares to fire off a few e-mails that his assistant is not going to like. (Fuck him, he's always asking for more responsibility, now he can damn well have it for a few days). He also looks at the clock impatiently, counting the hours before he can reasonably call his mother before her A.M. shift at Lima General. Seriously, the woman _never _stops talking and she knows everything that goes on in that town. So why the fuck hasn't he heard about this shitstorm before now?

She's totally got some explaining to do.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A link to joker to the thief's 'when the stars go blue' is available on my profile page if you missed it when it was first published. And as always, thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. **


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Thank you so much for your kindness! I hope you continue to enjoy the story_**.

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>Rachel wakes up slowly, blinking against the morning light coming in through the wood slats of the blinds and her surroundings are so unfamiliar, it takes her a minute to remember where she is and how she got here.<p>

It's not the yellow childhood bedroom that she and Connor spent the last week in, still half-packed up from her first, and as it turned out, only, full year at OSU, with its unwanted photographs and ribbons and mementos fluttering like unhappy ghosts. It's not the tiny blue bedroom in the house on Grove Street that she shared with Finn for almost four years, or the striped wallpaper in the apartment over Burt's garage that they lived in for the two years before that. It's not the anonymous motel rooms of the last few days, with battered furniture and ugly pictures screwed into the wall with metal brackets.

Cream colored walls. A large window with remote city sounds filtering in through the hum of the air conditioner. A soft, dark blue sheet pulled over her and Connor curled along her side. San Francisco. Noah's apartment. Technically speaking, Noah's bed, although probably only the gossips in Lima would bother to make _that _particular correlation. After all, she's been one of the town's major topics of conversation for years now.

Connor is still sleeping, breathing deeply and steadily, his lashes a dark smudge against his cheek. She slips out of bed, careful not to disturb him (she's hopeful that he'll sleep for at least another hour) and suddenly catches sight of herself in the mirror over the bureau. Wrinkling her nose at yesterday's crumpled clothes, she's unpleasantly aware that she didn't brush her teeth last night, or clearly, she thinks as she hunts for a brush in her bag, her hair either.

It doesn't really matter of course. Noah's seen her in worse. The dress she wore to that party she threw junior year springs to mind, and of course none of the outfits she wore freshman or sophomore year were exactly improved when doused with colored ice. He isn't going to care if she's wearing a ratty old tee shirt with spit-up stains on it or a cocktail dress or if she turns up in a catsuit. (Actually, he might care about that one, she doubts he's changed that much.)

Still, a shower couldn't hurt.

With a last check on a peacefully sleeping Connor, she grabs a towel from the pile he'd left last night and heads out into the living room. Last night she'd been too stressed and tired to notice anything beyond a hazy impression of light wood and dark colors, but she looks around in approval this morning. It's uncluttered, but comfortable, with a desk in the corner, a black leather sofa and chair and a series framed concert posters on the wall next to the entertainment center. An absolutely beautiful acoustic guitar rests on a stand in the corner and she wonders what happened to the battered old Gibson he used to play in high school.

She wanders into the kitchen, and there's no sign of Noah, but somewhat surprisingly, there are signs that someone prepares food here on a regular basis: a good set of knives and a cutting board, mixing bowls on an open shelf and several different sizes of saucepans hanging beneath. She looks at the photographs on the refrigerator and her eyes are immediately drawn to one of Noah standing shoulder to shoulder with an attractive blonde. They're on some kind of large boat, at a party possibly, and the intimate way the woman has her head resting against him and the way his lips are brushing her hair leave no doubt as to the nature of their relationship.

The woman looks cool and put-together in a silk blouse and pencil skirt, over-sized sunglasses pushed back on her head and Rachel suspects that Kurt would probably recognize the shoes and the expensive-looking handbag slung over one arm. With Noah standing next to her in a suit (tie-less, she notices, he always was the first of the boys to yank his off after a performance) the two of them are absolutely _breathtaking _together.

That's probably why she can't catch her breath properly.

She's happy for him. Really.

Forcing herself to look away, she recognizes several of Becca and Aviva, a picture of Noah with his arms around Mike and Kurt on graduation day, and one of all of them at Nationals, senior year. It's the same photo she has, the one where they're all beaming over their trophy and she's wedged in between Finn and Noah, staring fearlessly into the camera with a million-watt smile. It was probably the happiest day of her high-school career.

(She knows _exactly_ where her copy of that photo is; pressed between the pages of a novel she didn't particularly like and will probably never read again. She hasn't looked at it in_ years_.)

There's a familiar weight in her chest and as she turns her head, she see a note on the table, her name written on top in a familiar sprawling handwriting.

_Rach,_

_Didn't want to wake you, but I'm headed in to the studio for a couple of hours to wrap up a few things. I should be back sometime around ten. Cereal's in the cupboard above the sink. If you don't let C-man eat the good stuff with sugar, I think there's some Rice Krispies in the back. I picked up soy milk at the corner store on my way back from my run (loads of vegan shit there if you need something, gotta love San Francisco, right?) so that's in the fridge._

_See you soon,_

_Noah_

She smiles at the '_C-man_' and ruthlessly clamps down on any lingering trace of regret. She's moving forward from now on, in fact, she's moving straight into the shower before Connor wakes up.

* * *

><p>Puck drops another set of files on Josh's desk, and grins at his startled assistant. "You'll be fine. Just watch the compression settings when the slide guitar comes in. I already told you about the reverb, right?"<p>

"Like five times," the kid says.

Smartass. It's why he hired him. (Well, that and the three years of experience and the glowing letter of recommendation.)

"And you confirmed _New Rules _for the pre-production meeting?"

"They're on for Monday at 3:00. I think Jared might be upset, though. I got 'background arrangements' out of what he was saying, but not much else."

Nothing new there. Jared Lofts may be a brilliant songwriter and the visionary behind on the the most promising young bands on the studio's label, but he's a crazy perfectionist, and more than capable of throwing a total bitch-fit if everything doesn't play out exactly right.

(Familiar? You could say that.)

"I'll keep that in mind when they get here," he shrugs. "All right, you're in charge. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Josh looks at him curiously. "Dude, you realize this is going to suck up my entire weekend, right?"

Sure, he gets it. This isn't exactly the best timing, but when an old friend turns up on your door-step unexpectedly, this is what you do. (He'll ignore the fact that when Mike came to visit last year, he shoved a map and his BART card at him and set him loose on the town.)

"Sorry about that. I'll make it up to you," he promises. With that, he's out the door and he's kind of excited because he while _loves_ his job (and deep down, he also loves that it's a slap in the face to everyone who thought he wasn't going to amount to shit), it's still cool to have an unexpected couple of days off.

Like he said, helping out an old high-school friend.

Which is exactly what he tells his mother when he finally gets hold of her, and honestly he should know better by now. Somehow that woman _always_ manages to turn it around on him.

This time, it goes something like this:

"Yes Ma, _Finn and Rachel_. Shit, who the hell do you think I'm talking about!"

"Language, Noah!"

He rolls his eyes, (and is sort of glad she can't see him do it) counts to ten and tries again. "Right. Okay. Finn Hudson who spent sixth through ninth grade hanging out in our basement. Rachel Berry who you included in your shabbat prayers all through high school. That Finn and Rachel. Can you explain to me what the f...what's been going on in Lima that you haven't been telling me about?"

There's a lengthy silence, then: "Since you ask, Noah, there has been some talk about problems with their marriage."

Well yeah, he's kind of got that. "Like what?" he asks impatiently.

She sighs. "People love to talk, honey, you know that. It seems that Miriam Greenblatt's daughter lives next to door to the two of them, and it's ridiculous, the time she has on her hands. The woman must be keeping a log of every raised voice or slammed door. And someone may have said something about Finn spending a lot of time out of town this summer. Honestly, I don't listen any more. But you, Noah," and here her voice sharpens slightly, "Why this sudden interest? You haven't asked me about the two of them for _years_..."  
><em><br>Absolutely true. _

"...and I certainly didn't realize that you would be so concerned."

_Huge lie. _Aviva Puckerman knows him through and through, and while she might not have said anything (what was there to say?) she's gotta have a pretty good idea of what sent him running off to the fucking edge of the continent a few weeks after high school graduation.

"What do you mean?" he asks defensively. "They're...they're friends. This is the kind of shi...stuff you should know about your friends. Just because I'm not in Lima anymore..." (and thankful for it every goddamn day of his life) "doesn't mean I don't want to know."

"Bull," she says crisply. "What's changed?"

Well hell. Probably nothing. (She may be_ here_, but that's a long way from being _his_.)

"Ma, I gotta get to work early, so I'll have to call you back."

"_Noah_."

He's only just now realizing that this is going to play a little too well in his mother's world. She's adored Rachel for years and now she's bound to make something out of nothing. For his sanity's sake he should shut up immediately. Instead, he blurts it all out: the knock on his door, the problems with Rachel's apartment, her job, everything. He's pretty sure Connor's bunny even gets a mention.

Her response kind of knocks him back on his ass.

"Be careful, Noah," she says soberly and then makes some kind of excuse that he's too surprised to call her on and gets off the phone.

The woman is completely nuts. (Even so, he's wondering what the hell she meant by that the entire way home.)

He totally forgets about his mother and her craziness the second he opens the door to his place and the first thing he hears is Rachel singing something about ladybugs and Connor's happy little chirp in response. The two of them are in the kitchen, Rachel flitting back and forth between the table and the sink and Connor perched on a chair stirring a bowl of cereal.

"Hey," he says breathlessly. (Stairs.)

"Good morning," she replies, smiling. "We're having some breakfast. Thank you so much for the soy milk, it was very thoughtful of you."

"Like I said, San Francisco, we've got it all," he grins and then turning to Connor says, "Hi, buddy. What's up?" The little boy ducks his head shyly and then peeps up and holds out his spoon towards Puck. "Rice Krispies, huh? I like those, too."

"They make _noise,_" Connor says, his eyes going wide.

"What do they say?" he asks, playing along.

Connor giggles and looks to his mother who supplies, "Snap, crackle, pop, right sweetie?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. You gotta listen a little closer." Connor tilts his head and listens intently. "Close your eyes, dude." When Connor screws his eyes shut, Puck squeaks, "We're done swimming! Eat us all up!"

Connor's eyes fly open and he lets out a huge belly laugh before saying, "I like him!"

"I do too," Rachel replies. "Do you remember Aviva from temple? Noah is her little boy."

"He's not little!" Connor says, clearly puzzled.

"I got big," he assures the boy solemnly. "Now eat your cereal, so you can too."

While Connor digs in, he slides past Rachel on his way to the refrigerator. (Shut up. It's a small kitchen.) Pulling out the _real _milk, he eyes her.

"You can drink out of the carton if you want to," she teases him. "This is your place, after all."

Right here, _this_, this is the Rachel Berry he remembers, the one with the smile that reaches all the way to her eyes.

And now he's been staring too long, she's shifting uncomfortably under his gaze, and he shakes his head and tries to pull himself together.

"No, it's just that the glasses are behind you," he explains.

"Oh, of course!" She moves left and he goes right and they block each other again. "Here, let me."

Their fingers brush when she hands him a glass and they both take a step back.

"So, did you find everything you need," he asks casually, focusing on filling his glass.

She touches her hair. It's down now and just brushing the tops of her shoulders, the ends curling gently, longer than the sensible bob she had the last time he saw her in that supermarket in Lima.

"I borrowed some of the shampoo and conditioner in the shower, and used the hairdryer under the sink. I hope your friend won't mind," she says, eyes flicking down.

Oh right. Jen.

"Nah, she won't mind," he reassures her.

Probably not, anyway. He's not really sure about the etiquette on this kind of thing.

And look, it's not like he forgot about her or anything. (Shit, he didn't did he?) They've been dating for almost a year and a half; sliding into something serious enough so that she's got a few things hanging in his bedroom closet and obviously a crap-load of toiletries in his bathroom, which, you know, is_ fine_, because it's easier for her to get for her office from his place in the morning. In fact, she probably would have been here this morning if she wasn't in L.A. on business.

He takes a deep breath and tells Rachel a few things about Jen. How she's a junior associate at Glick & Eisely working contracts in entertainment law. How they met at an industry party and hit it off. (He doesn't mention that they hit it off _several times _that night; he's learned a little discretion since high school.) How she met his mom and sister when they came out during Becca's spring break. (He also doesn't mention that his mom's lips were so pinched together that she looked like she was sucking lemons the whole visit and how Becca straight out called Jen a bitch.)

"She sounds wonderful," Rachel says, and then gesturing to a picture of the two of them at one of Jen's events, continues, "And she's certainly very lovely."

"Yeah, hot, smart, and crazy about me, who would have thought, huh?" he jokes uncomfortably. Whatever. High school was a long time ago, but constantly being a distant second _stings_, all right?

Rachel glares at him. (She never let him get away with that shit back then either.) "I think she's a very lucky girl, Noah!"

Maybe Jen is the lucky one, he thinks as he heads to his bedroom to change. For whatever reason he doesn't feel all that lucky right at this second.

In fact, he feels kind of fucked.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: An early Happy Thanksgiving to those who are celebrating and as always, your feedback is appreciated** _


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Again, thank you so much for the wonderful response to this story! It is much appreciated! **

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>Whoever first issued the platitude '<em>everything will look brighter in the morning<em>' clearly didn't have her apartment in mind. Instead, daylight just serves to show the cobwebs the corners and the dead spider in the bottom of the bathtub, the grease caked on the appliances (she actually shuddered when she opened the refrigerator) and the dinginess of the paint job throughout, with scuff marks so high on the walls of the kitchen she wonders what the previous tenants could have been up to.

Connor is in her arms because she's doesn't want to take the chance that he might cut himself on a stray piece of glass and as she looks back and forth between the photos she was sent and the reality of a living situation that she's already sunk most of her savings into, her heart absolutely sinks down to her feet. Still, perhaps things _are_a little better this morning, because instead of wanting to cry, she's starting to get angry. (She's done plenty of both in the last few years and she can confirm that getting angry gets a lot more done.)

"It's pretty bad isn't it?" she says to Noah who is staring grimly at the broken lock and shattered window.

He shrugs and it's absurdly encouraging. "I've seen worse. Lived in worse, too. Want me to get rid of the broken glass?"

She nods and decides that out of a series of bad options, the merely dusty larger bedroom is marginally the best bet, so she sets Connor up there with a coloring book and crayons while she '_discusses_' the situation with the rental company.

Noah reappears through the apartment door as she hangs up. "I wedged a piece of cardboard over the hole and threw the glass in the dumpster out back. What did they have to say?

"The rental agent I worked with is out of the office until next week. Her assistant suggests I speak to the building superintendent in the meantime."

"This place has a super? I can have a word with him if you want," he says, clenching his fist reflexively and for a second she sees high-school Noah storming towards the door and threatening to rearrange that Jessie kid's face and it warms her now just like it did then.

It would also be much too easy to begin to rely on that kind of support.

"Thank you, but no." She needs to begin as she means to go on. "I can deal with it. Would you mind watching Connor for a few minutes? I'll be right downstairs and there are snacks and a drink in my bag. And if he gets bored with coloring, there are a few other toys..."

"I've got it, Rach," he interrupts, smiling. "Go kick some ass."

Taking a deep breath, she agrees, and swallowing through her nerves, she makes her way down the stairs and raps sharply on the door to apartment 11. She waits impatiently, tapping her foot, but it's not until she's knocked twice more that the door swings open to reveal a man blinking sleepily at her.

"Ray Morris?" she asks, taking in the greying pony-tail, the threadbare cut-offs, t-shirt and sandals combo, and most of all the faint but unmistakeable smell of marijuana wafting out into the hallway.

"Uh-huh," he agrees, giving her a friendly smile and a wave and then as if they were finished with the conversation, he tries to close the door.

She swiftly moves one arm to block the door open. "I'm the new tenant. Rachel Berry in apartment 34B. There are some problems with the current condition of the apartment. Additionally, the deadbolt seems to be completely missing and the rental company said that you would be the first person to contact."

"Yeah, that place really got trashed. Stupid college kids. I hear the new tenant's a little older, like a teacher or something. She's not moving in until August first though."

"_I'm_ the new tenant," she reminds him from between gritted teeth.

His eyes widen. "_Whoa! _ Man, you're early. It's really, you know, _not _in move in condition yet."

_Don't kill him. Don't kill him. Even if it _would_ be justifiable homicide._

"Today is August second, Ray."

He scratches his head and knits his brow together. "Shit, that's not good."

"That's an understatement. If you don't mind my asking, how did you get this job?"

He grins sheepishly. "My uncle owns the place. He's gonna be hella pissed when he finds out about this though."

Oh yes. She can work with that. "I would imagine so, Ray. But I think he'll be much more understanding when he finds out about all the help you're going to be giving me over the next few days, don't you?"

By the time she's finished with Ray, he's called the locksmith, promised to both fix the window immediately and start painting tomorrow (and don't think she won't be knocking on his door first thing in the morning to make sure that happens), provided her with cleaning supplies, and even said he could run a buffer over the wood floors if she wants. She marches back upstairs, flushed with victory, only to find Connor and Noah sprawled out across the bedroom floor, busily playing with toy cars.

"Vroom!" Connor moves his vehicle in a wide arc. "Fast car!"

She watches from the door way as Noah pushes his car. "Wow!" he says, "That red one sure is a fast car. What about the blue one? Is mine fast too?"

"The blue one always crashes!" he says and then laughs as Noah makes exploding noises. Connor looks up and spots her. "Mommy!"

She sinks to one knee as he races to her and wraps her arms around around him, pressing a few kisses on top of his soft brown hair while she waits for the lump in her throat to subside. Meeting Noah's eye over Connor's head doesn't help with that. Forcing her eyes down, she looks at her son.

"Sweetheart, you're filthy! You need another bath." He moves to squirm out of her arms (what is it with small boys and their affinity for dirt?) and she ruffles his hair lightly. "Or at least a hand wash before we have a snack. Come on." Pausing in the doorway, she looks back at Noah. "Please don't feel like I don't appreciate your help because I _really _do, but I know you've probably got a million things to do. I think after my little talk with the superintendent, we're well on the way to getting things straightened out here, so don't feel like you have to stay."

He pushes himself up to his feet and makes a scoffing noise. "Like you're going to get out of this without feeding me? Look, I saw carrot sticks _and _raisins in that snack bag."

If he's trying to make her smile, he's succeeding.

* * *

><p>By the end of the afternoon he's tired and probably a little smelly, but at least all of her stuff is unloaded from the station wagon (he's seriously amazed at how much shit she crammed in there) and she's not living in a place that's <em>absolutely <em>filthy, so that's something. She's sitting on the floor, leaned up against the wall (it may be a little cleaner, but outside of the air mattress that Connor napped on, she's still got no furniture, so yeah, floor) with her phone pressed to her ear and he'd go and give her a little privacy to talk but she waves him over and pats the space next to herself invitingly.

"No Daddy, we ended up spending the night at Noah's apartment...It wasn't what I'd planned, but then the apartment wasn't exactly in the promised condition either...we're cleaning it now...Yes, Noah and I..."

Sneaking a look at him, she shifts uncomfortably and he thinks he knows why. Daniel Berry was never his biggest fan.

"Don't send another check, Connor and I are fine and you've been more than generous. And no, I don't think the ACLU needs to be notified..." Another sideways glance and then she continues in a lower tone. "_Daddy_, he's being a perfect gentleman and what's more, he's being a good friend..._Yes_,_ I'll remember_...I love you too! I'll talk to you soon."

She ends the calls and smiles weakly. "Daddy says hi."

He laughs. "Rach, it's okay. Poor guy. Remember that nervous twitch he'd develop whenever I showed up? The one just under his eye?"

"He always admired your talent and determination, Noah. The two of you just got off on the wrong foot."

That's putting it mildly. Not that he blames the guy.

"Yeah. That was probably because when he walked in on us making out sophomore year my hand was on your thigh and heading straight for your ass."

All these years later and he can still remember exactly how soft her hair felt when he pushed it back behind her ear, how smooth her skin was, the little squeak she made when his thumb brushed the edge of her panties..._._And now he really needs to think about something else.

"Dad spent hours talking him down from that one. _ Hours_. He always said he saw a lot of himself in you."

Dad. _ Marcus Berry._

Shit, that's something else he remembers: that feeling of total helplessness eight years ago when his mother delivered the bad news. Forty-seven and a massive heart-attack hits and that was _it_, one of those crappy things that you think are never going to happen to the kind of guy who does youth coaching for disadvantaged kids and dedicates a significant portion of his law practice for pro bono work. (Including helping out a fucked up kid who tried to steal an ATM from a convenience store.)

He reaches out and squeezes her hand briefly. "I'm really sorry I couldn't get back for the funeral. I wanted to, as soon as Ma told me about the accident, but I just couldn't swing it."

"I understand. You sent a lovely note. I would have written back, but you didn't include a return address."

Well at that point he didn't have one, or at least not anything more permanent than spending a few weeks at a time on someone's couch. (His first year in California was rough.) "I still wish I could have been there. Losing a parent..."

Thank god that car crash his Ma was in two years ago wasn't any worse. Sure he bitches, but he doesn't know what he'd do without her.

"I was going to do it," Rachel says, looking down at her hands twisting in her lap. "Go to New York that next year. Not NYADA, re-applying didn't work out, but to the city. I ran into Jessie St. James and he offered me a job doing dinner theater, wedding comedies and murder mysteries and things like that. Nothing like what I dreamed, but I could have taken lessons, audited a few classes at NYU, even gone on auditions. But then when Dad died, Daddy was such a mess and our finances were shaky and I just couldn't figure out how to make it work, so I told myself that another year wouldn't make that much of a difference. For a while, it was hard to think about him because I used to worry that he'd be disappointed in me and my choices. He was always the dreamer in our family, you know."

"Rachel,_ no_," he interrupts. "Your Dad might have been a dreamer, but he adored you. New York or not, that was never going to change."

"I know he did. I think I finally understood that after I had Connor. Still, you don't really forget," she says matter-of-factly. "It just loosens its grip on your heart enough so you can move on with your life." She nods firmly. "Like now. Dad loved San Francisco; he went to Berkeley for law school. You know what? Let's talk about something else." She offers him the last of the last of the carrots, neatly diced up in a little plastic container.

"Nah, I'm disgusting," he says, showing her his hands, tacitly accepting her change of subject.

She waves an arm towards the newly scrubbed bathroom. "I'd offer you a shower, but I'm not sure where the box with the towels is. Plus, no shower curtain." He watches her pull out a scrap of paper and add it to the list. "And thank you so much for fixing the bathroom sink by the way. I need to know how much the tools and parts were, so I can reimburse you."

She thinks he's going to take money from her? Not likely. "It was only like two bucks for a new washer and I already had the right wrench in my toolbox."

She frowns and says, "Still...," but at that moment, Connor distracts them both by zooming by at approximately ninety miles an hour, two dust cloths in his outstretched hands like wings.

"Kid's got a lot of energy, huh?" he asks, smiling at the the boy and maybe even more at Rachel's face as she watches him.

"_Always._Don't forget, he had a nap though."

He groans and stands back up. Last night's lack of sleep is definitely starting to catch up with him. "I could really use one of those." Grabbing her hand and ignoring how warm and small and good it feels in his, he carefully pulls her to her feet. "You just about done here for today?"

Her face scrunches up. "Done? I don't..."

"Look, the locksmith came and replaced the deadbolt and that's great, but do you really want Connor around while that dumb-a..." Shit, the little guy is hopping down the hall now, he's gotta start watching what he says. "...While _Ray _is painting and messing around with the window? I'm definitely not going to tell you your business, but it seems like he could get into trouble."

Actually, he's not planning on mentioning it to Rachel but he's already got first hand knowledge of this. He looked away from his open toolbox for like _one second_, only to glance back and find Connor with his hammer in hand, preparing to clobber a defenseless spider. Lesson learned: the toolbox needs to be kept _latched_. (Kid's got a good swing, though.)

"So think about making my place your home-base for a couple of days," he continues and his body is sort of getting ahead of his brain because he tugs her closer so that only a couple inches separate them before letting go. (What? It's _friendly_. Good friends do that.)

She bites her lip and looks down and he can almost hear the wheels in her head turning. And she's not looking at him, so he can stare as much as he wants, with her in a tank tops and shorts again, showing all sorts of smooth, tanned skin. Her hair is pinned up with a few loose strands curling along her neck, and a smudge of dirt along her upper arm, and he wonders what she'd do if he wiped it away and this is probably a shitty idea because she's _still_ the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

He literally _can't_ force himself to care.

"There's obviously enough room and it'll give you more time to unpack and...um...paint fumes...bad for vocal chords, right?"

Fine. He's reaching.

She tilts her head towards him and one corner of her mouth quirks up. "It's been a while since I worried about my vocal cords," she admits quietly.

(Rachel who insisted on having room temperature water available backstage and gave gave them all handouts decorated with little gold stars about the effects of dairy on mucus production. Rachel with a white-board the week before Nationals, refusing to speak unless it was absolutely necessary.)

"I dunno. You sounded pretty good this morning. Best ladybug song _I've_ ever heard," he says and just like he intends, the corner of her mouth tilts up.

"As a hot-shot producer, I'm sure you get a lot of demand for ladybug songs," she says dryly.

"I'm an expert, babe. Seriously, think about it. I've got a couple of days off," (_Sorry Josh_) "and it would be fun to catch up."

Or okay, maybe fun is the wrong word, since what he really wants to know what the fuck happened with her and Finn, or hell, more of what's been going on with her for the last nine years, since twenty minutes in a grocery store two years ago doesn't really do it. And _obviously _he's not about to grill her about the whole thing, but he's pretty sure that if they start talking, it'll all come out. She's always been ridiculously easy to talk to.

Rachel still looks like she could go either way, and he's trying to figure out a way to tip the scales when Connor makes a reappearance, dragging his stuffed animal by one paw. "Bunny's hungry again," he says plaintively. "He _needs _Rice Krispies."

_Awesome. _

She lets out a little puff of breath. "All right, Noah. If you're sure you're up for it, we'd be very happy to take you up on your offer." She picks Connor up and hugs him. "Sweetie, Noah has invited us to stay for a couple days, while our new apartment gets fixed up. How does that sound?"

Connor leans over and reaches up to pat his cheek. "Can we have more Rice Krispies?"

His heart skips a beat for a second when he looks into those big brown eyes, fringed with enormously long lashes that are just exactly like his mom's.

"You know it, big guy," he says.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for reading. Feedback is always welcomed!**


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Again, thank you all so much for the alerts, favorites and reviews! I appreciate it! As promised, this update should start to answer the question of what went wrong with Finn and Rachel's marriage. ** _

* * *

><p><strong>if I could tell you<strong>

* * *

><p>Connor is feeding Bunny pretend carrots in the kitchen while she washes and dries the cutting board and knife and checks the oven one last time, turning the temperature up for the last few minutes so that the cheese on top of the casserole will brown. (While she still largely follows a vegan diet herself, she's found that her son will eat an <em>incredibly<em> wide variety of vegetables if they come with cheese sauce.) With a glance at the bottle on the counter-top, she stretches up on her toes, reaching in the cupboard above the sink for a pair of appropriate glasses.

The bottle of wine was an impulse buy.

She was at the grocery store picking up on a few supplies, like shampoo (for some reason she really doesn't feel comfortable borrowing Jen's), Connor's favorite crackers and of course the necessary ingredients for the dinner she insisted on making to thank Noah for his hospitality, when a Napa Valley red on the shelf caught her eye.

Maybe it wasn't wise; she's still counting every penny, but she'd deposited the checks from Daddy and Burt and Carole, so a ten-dollar bottle of wine isn't going to break her. It will go perfectly with the meal, and besides, last minute wrinkles aside, she and Connor are _here _and it's been too long since she's felt she had something to celebrate.

Noah walks into the kitchen in a pair of jeans and a faded McKinley Titans tee-shirt, with his short hair still damp from the shower. He looks terrific, but obviously the color in her cheeks is simply due to the heat of the oven as she takes the dish out. Anything else would be ridiculous given that she's probably seen him in that exact outfit hundreds of times. (Really, that _exact_ one, she recognizes the blue paint stain on the sleeve from when they painted scenery for _West Side Story_.)

"Smells good in here," he says appreciatively and then gesturing to the bottle, "Hey, do you want me to open that?"

"Yes, please," she replies, ignoring any stray and definitely out-of-place butterflies and bringing the salad and bread to the table.

He makes quick work of the cork and pours them each a glass and there and then she decides that it's also been way too long since she had a friend to celebrate with.

Dinner is a success and Noah has seconds even after she identifies the green bits as kale. (Who knew that the cheese trick would work with grown up boys too?) They talk about her apartment for a while and then she draws him out about his work, listening intently while he describes two or three of the projects he's working on. It's exciting, of course, to know that he's done so well, especially at something he clearly loves, but she can't help worrying that he must be much busier than he's made out.

He's talking to Connor now, trying to making him laugh by imitating the sounds of various instruments, blowing a trumpet sound from between his lips, then strumming a make-believe guitar, and finally tapping a steady drum beat with his fingertips on the table.

"Daddy plays drums," Connor says softly. "Lots and lots."

Noah flashes a quick look at her and then replies, "Yeah buddy, I remember. Your daddy plays the drums really well."

Connor turns to her, and his eyelids are starting to go heavy and he's rubbing the hem of his shirt between his fingers in the way he does when he's tired.

"Can we call Daddy on the phone?" he asks and she reaches over to him and pulls him onto her lap, smoothing his hair and rocking him slightly.

"It's really late where Daddy is right now and he's probably asleep," she says, ignoring Noah's surprised glance and placing a kiss on the top of her son's head. "We'll try to call him tomorrow, okay sweetie?"

The little boy nods and settles against her and she knows he'll be asleep in a few minutes, so she makes their excuses, grateful for the familiar bedtime rituals of washing faces and hands, brushing teeth and getting into pajamas. When she tucks Connor into bed with Bunny curled into the crook of his small arm, she hugs him extra tight.

The two of them are going to make this work. She just knows it.

When she comes back out, Noah is stacking the rinsed dishes in the drain-board and when she goes to grab the dish towel to dry, he grins and tells her to leave it. "The cook doesn't clean. House rules. Go relax."

"Well, I can't argue with house rules, I guess," she smiles.

"Nope. Here, take this with you." He pours an inch or so of wine in her glass before topping off his own. "I'll be there in a little bit and we can do that catching up thing."

She sits on the sofa, tucking her feet underneath her as she sips from her glass and wonders, not for the first time, what exactly Noah knows about, well, _everything_: school and Finn and New York.

His post-high-school correspondence with her was largely limited to a few scrawled postcards the first year or two, and as far as she's aware, he didn't keep in touch with Finn at all, although obviously, he has his own lines of communication with Lima. But the way he's looked over her shoulder last night, as if he was expecting Finn to be behind her and the glance he'd given her when Connor brought up his daddy makes her think that he's less in the loop than she assumed.

The simplest explanation is that most people don't keep close tabs on the lives of old high-school friends. It's not a very comforting thought, so she decides to concentrate on the fact that he seems happy enough to see her, happy enough to invite them back to his home, even if he's already gone above and beyond the requirements of a decade old friendship.

She's lost in thought and it startles her when he sinks down onto the other end of the sofa, propping his feet up on the coffee table. They share a moment of companionable silence, but only a moment because patience has never been her strong point.

"So are you going to ask?"

"About what?" he replies, looking at her curiously.

She smiles crookedly. "You know. Don't you think I owe you some kind of explanation?" Certainly every one else seemed to expect that from her at one point or another over the last year. Her family, her friends, the town at large, all looking to her for the answers to what went wrong. (Is it over-dramatic to think that most of her life seems to have been subject to that kind of scrutiny?)

"You don't owe me shit," he says firmly. "Anything you _want _to tell me though, I can be a good listener."

She bites her lip. "I know." _You always were. _"I guess I'm not sure where to begin."

"I get that," he nods. "Let me ask you this since I really don't want to say the wrong thing to the little guy. I saw you in that grocery store in Lima and shit Rach, I'm not going to lie, it seemed like maybe you weren't totally happy..."

_Walking out of the Lima Shop 'n Save and sobbing in her car with radio turned up high so that she doesn't scare Connor. Going home without the groceries to Finn, who either doesn't notice her red-rimmed eyes, or doesn't have the patience to unravel it. Staring in the bathroom mirror at the frumpy clothes and the practical haircut and the dark circles under her eyes and wondering how Noah could possibly look at her as if she was _exactly_ the same girl who sang that duet with him all those years ago. _

"...but with Connor and a house and that ring on your finger you seemed settled. And now two years later you're in San Francisco and when you say Finn isn't in the picture, what exactly are you talking about? Because a three-hour time difference doesn't exactly equal late at night."

Of course he picked up on that. She swallows hard. "First week of August? Um, that's Prague, I think. Or possibly Budapest. I have it down in my calendar." She shifts to pull her phone out of her pocket and he sits up, his feet hitting the floor with a thud and puts a hand out to stop her.

"_Like Eastern Europe? _How long has he been gone? For that matter, what the hell is he doing there when he should be..." He breaks off, his warm fingers still gripping her, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist absently before he seems to realize it and pulls away. She sort of (completely) wishes he'd put it back.

"He's been in gone since the beginning of summer. As to what he's doing there? I suppose you could say that Finn is following his dreams," she says. ,

* * *

><p>The band starts off simply: just Finn and a few guys from around town getting together and playing the kind of classic rock covers that he used to love in Glee. She's back at night school by that time, trying to finish up the last few credits for her degree (hard to believe that once upon a time that education degree had been her <em>fall-back <em>plan) so the gigs at local bars and nightclubs make it even trickier to find time together. Sometimes they fight about that, but by that time they're fighting about a lot of things, and anyway, he's right about one thing, with tuition and Connor to provide for, they can use the extra money he brings in.

He starts writing his own songs again, pulling out the old rhyming dictionary Mr. Schuester gave him and she finds stanza and scraps of choruses on odd pieces of paper scattered throughout the house. She offers to help, but he turns her down and she doesn't ask again.

She goes to a few of his shows right at the start and they're actually quite good, but after a few times she tells herself she needs to concentrate on her degree and that she feels guilty about always asking their parents to babysit. Yes, that's certainly part of it, but there's also a horrible, selfish part of her that's _jealous_, no matter how hard she tries to squash it. It should be about the late nights, the missed anniversary, the traveling as the band starts getting booked for venues around the Midwest. But the scary truth is that when she sees him lighting up on stage in a way that he doesn't anywhere else, it's not that she wants to be the one who puts that look on his face. No, she's jealous because he's got a chance to get out of Lima, because that's supposed to be _her_ up there on stage, because it was _her _dream first.

(The worst part is that he knows this about her, knows practically every selfish thing she's ever done, just like it's impossible for her to misinterpret the careless shrug he gives her when she makes her excuses.)

Finn gets a new manager. Very young, very ambitious and _very _pretty in that classic all-American Quinn Fabray sort of way. Carole looks worried and Kurt drops a few hints to her when he's home for Easter, but she can't bring herself to say anything, not even in August when he goes to New York with her for a couple of days to meet a some promoters.

He's the one who brings it up a few weeks later. It's late at night and they're fighting again, biting out the angry words in an undertone so they don't wake Connor up and he insists that _nothing happened_ with Chelsea in New York, as if she was accusing him of something. By then she's not sure if whether they had sex or not even _matters_, and they spend the night in the same bed together with a divide like the Grand Canyon between them. She's never felt so alone in a double bed.

A weekend spent apart becomes a week, and then two and by Thanksgiving they've formally separated.

She finds out he's signed with a minor label when she bumps into Will and Emma at the China Palace on Christmas Day. When she brings the bag of take-out back to Daddy, she asks him for the name of a decent family lawyer.

In May, they meet at that lawyer's office to sign the final divorce papers and he tells her about the tour. It's a big opportunity for him, playing the summer festival circuit all over Europe, opening for some big-name acts, making important contacts. And after that a U.S. tour is already starting to come together, Chelsea is already starting to book dates. Of course it will be hard with Connor, but there's the telephone and Skype and vacations and even if he doesn't end up coming back to Lima, (Chelsea knows a lot of people on the east coast music scene) with a little effort they can make it work.

She's _pissed_, she really is, because Connor deserves more than this.

It also feels like being let out of a cage.

She tell him about the job opportunity in San Francisco after a July show in Amsterdam. He's quiet for a long time and finally he says that she should go for it, she should take her chance to get out and that everything he said about spending time with Connor can still apply.

It's the closest she's felt to him in years.

* * *

><p>She stretches her left hand in front of her and even the pale mark where the ring used to rest is gone now. "I suppose we were never entirely solid," she admits to Noah as she finishes her last sip of wine. "We both cared for each other, but there was always something. I would say something or do something that would end up hurting him and a few months later, he'd do the same in return. I'm sure you remember what high school was like."<p>

"Still shitty. You know, for all of you," Noah says, and his tone isn't shocked or critical or surprised, it just _is_ and she loves him a little bit for that.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: I'm sorry we're missing Puck's perspective, but grades are due this week and I'm buried under a pile of essays. *sigh* As always, I'd love to know what you think. :)**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Sorry about the delay on this, sick kids and ungraded essays have had to take precedence in real life. :( **_

_**Thank you again for your response to this story! ** _

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>It takes him a long time to fall asleep that night because it's all a mess in his head: him and Rachel and Finn, and now Connor all tangled together in ways that his high-school self never could have predicted and when his mind finally drifts, he starts thinking about a hike he went on last year in the Santa Cruz mountains. He was with a group of friends and they were making good time on the trail when the trees opened up and there in front of them was this <em>amazing<em> panorama of hills and sky and water stretching out as far as he could see. He took a couple of steps forwards and one of the guys grabbed his arm and yanked him back and when he looked down his head started swimming because he had been standing right on the edge of a precipice.

This is like that.

* * *

><p>At first he can't seem to find Rachel anywhere as he wanders through the long, empty hallways and it's confusing as hell because somehow he's sure she's <em>supposed<em> to be around. And then it hits him, of course she's going to be in the chorus room. The familiar door appears in front of him and he pushes it open and she's there all right, he's watching Finn and Rachel kiss in slow-motion on the risers and shit, the band is actually playing _'My Heart Will Go On_' in the background. He hates that fucking song.

Right. He's been here before, this is the end of junior year all over again. It still sucks. He's on his way out when Artie walks up behind him. "They aren't going to last you know," he says calmly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Puck shrugs it off.

Later he's sitting on the bleachers and she slides into the row behind him. When he turns, she hands him a slushie and whispers, "I wasn't going to break up with you anyway" into his ear. When he kisses her, her lips are icy but sweet and by the time he figures out that she tastes like grape, she's gone.

He finds her again in the McKinley parking lot and slips his hand into hers while they watch Shelby and Beth walk away, just like they always do in this dream (and he's beginning to realize that's what this is as the edges start to waver and melt away). She squeezes his fingers and he drops a light kiss on top of her head, enjoying the smell of her shampoo, green apple mixed with...waffles? That's unusual but he doesn't have time to puzzle it out because there's a tug on his other hand and he looks down to find Connor staring at him hopefully.

"Wanna play?" the little boy asks, making race-car noises. _Really loud _race-car noises_. _He opens his eyes and blinks: the parking lot is gone but Connor is still there, running his red car along the edge of Puck's bed.

"Hey buddy," he says, his voice creaky with sleep. "Yeah, we can do that."

Connor squeaks and gives a happy little hop and except for the sandy hair he looks so goddamn much like Rachel that he can't do anything but smile and take the blue car that's thrust at him. They make a little mountain range with the extra pillow and take turns letting their cars rolls down the slope.

"_Connor_," Rachel calls quietly from the hallway, and the boy flashes him a guilty look. She steps in through the doorway and knits her brow together worriedly. "Sweetheart, I sent you to wash your hands before breakfast, not to wake up Noah."

His quick "Nah, he's okay, Rach," comes out at the same time as Connor's "Mommy, Noah _wants _to play!" and Rachel shakes her head good naturedly at the two of them.

"Hands now please, your waffles are almost done," she addresses her son and the boy trots out of the room.

"Waffles?" He throws the sheet off and stands up quickly, knowing that the look on his face is ridiculously hopeful.

"Um. Yes. I made...there's plenty," she says with a curious catch in her voice. Her cheeks are pink too and she's staring at him and he can't help the cocky grin that appears any more than he could change the color of his eyes.

Look, he's totally decent in a white undershirt and boxers, which face it, is two more pieces of clothing than he normally wears to bed. He learned his lesson on that one the last time Chang visited and got an eyeful when he got up for a glass of water in the middle of the night. But he's got way too much experience with women not to realize what's going on here and Rachel being hot for his body has always been one of his favorite things in the world. Just behind _touching_ Rachel and _kissing _Rachel and he's totally taking a step forward and...fuck.

Somewhere towards the middle of senior year, about when things blew up with Shelby, he_ finally_ worked out that there's often a difference between what he wants and what's a good idea. Rachel's (unfortunately) on the same page because she gives him a nervous smile and runs back towards those waffles like her backside's on fire. Wrong place, wrong time, which is pretty much the story of his fucking life. (Hers too?)

And also there's Jen. He's _got _to stop forgetting about her. He should call her but she's bound to be in a meeting right now and besides, explaining Rachel and Connor's existence and current living situation will go better in person.

Probably.

Breakfast with Rachel is awkward at first and they do that dance again where he's reaching for something and she's trying to get out of his way. It's the syrup this time and there's a moment where he has to grit his teeth trying _not _to think of drizzling a sticky line along her skin and licking his way down but then Connor gets them both laughing when he starts singing to his waffle. They eat, make plans to knock a few more things off her list and he flat out tells her that he's cooking tonight (again, San Francisco, there's probably five kinds of veggie burgers available at the 7-11 alone) and things are more or less normal after that.

There's that little voice in his head reminding him that maybe they shouldn't _have _a normal, but fuck it.

* * *

><p>"Are you two good to go?" he calls out about half an hour later as he finishes sending out a few emails to Josh.<p>

First they're swinging by the apartment so she can terrorize that asswipe, Ray (she can say she's not terrorizing him all she wants, he knows the kind of fear that Rachel Berry with an agenda can bring and as far as he's concerned, it's hilarious) and then they're going to try to find her some furniture. He may have spent his first three years in this town sleeping on a mattress on the floor, but he wants more for Rachel and Connor and a damn sofa and a bookshelf that's not made out of milk-crates is the least of it.

"Almost," she calls from the kitchen. "Have you seen Connor's other shoe...oh never mind, it's next to the door!" She pops her head into the living room with the little guy in tow. "Also, I need to try to reach Finn again. His phone must have been off earlier this morning and it's been a few days. I'm sure he must be concerned."

He shrugs a little stiffly and then mentally catching himself, tries to put some enthusiasm in his voice. "Sounds great! You should do that."

She stares. Yeah, too much.

They head into their bedroom to make the call and he's left staring at his computer screen still trying to wrap his head around it. The Finn he knew...shit, that Finn understands exactly what it's like to grow up without a dad around and it's not like Finn's father even had a choice. This is a lot more like his own fuck-up who took off chasing a fantasy that never amounted to anything beyond playing crappy covers in seedy bars.

That said, maybe he doesn't know Hudson as well as he thought he did. Hell, he never even knew that Finn cared about music that much and he was friends with him practically his whole life, right up until he derailed the hell out of that messing around with Quinn. And then Rachel. And then Rachel again really, because Finn might have been dumb enough to spend four years copying Brittany's math homework, but he sure as hell had an unwavering instinct for when someone had a thing for Rachel.

(What? Why would he even bother lying about it? He sure as hell made it obvious enough to every last one of the Gleeks with the possible exception of Rachel herself.)

But whatever their history was, it sure as hell didn't help things the last time he tried to interfere with Finn on Rachel's behalf.

* * *

><p><em>There's just <em>no way_._

_That's what he keeps telling himself on the entire drive over to the garage. First of all it doesn't even make sense. She's like the most talented person _ever_ and she works her ass off and when she sings she grabs every damn person in the audience and pulls them right along with her. It's impossible to see her and see her on a stage and not be in love with her for at least as long as the song lasts. (Or maybe longer.) So who the hell doesn't see all that and _beg_ her to come to their stupid school?_

_As for the rest of it? Also impossible._

_Impossible or not, he's there for some answers and he slams his truck door loud enough to rattle the entire frame and storms into Burt's garage, straight to the bay where Finn is working on an old Ford._

_"Is it true?" he demands, not bothering with a hello._

_"It what true?" Finn asks but he's looking down at the wrench in his hand and you can damn well bet he knows what Puck is talking about._

_"About Rachel. That she didn't get into NYADA."_

_Finn frowns. "Yeah, it's true. They said she had a lot of promise, but it was a competitive year or whatever. Probably that suspension on her record didn't help either. Who'd you hear it from?"_

_Please, a story like that? Take your pick, it's all over the damn school and while most of the his classmates probably couldn't tell you what the hell NYADA is, they're loving this. There's nothing this town enjoys more than seeing someone amazing take a fall._

_"Mercedes is running her mouth." His fists clench and his jaw works and he can barely get the next words out. "She's also saying that Rachel is staying here next year, which is just fucking insane. But if she fell off the auditorium stage or something and lost her goddamned mind, I'm here to ask what you're going to do about it."_

_"It's Rachel's choice. She can reapply next year," Finn says defensively. "Besides, what exactly do you think I can_ _do about it?"_

_"Anything! Tell her she has to go!_ _She can get on the waitlist_ _at Tisch. Fuck, she can go to Cincinnati for a year, they've got a decent musical theater program. But what she can't_ _do is rot in Lima for a year doing community theater and open mic nights at Breadstix!"_

_"What the hell is it to you?" Finn's volume is starting to creep up match his own and the other guy working in the shop is looking at the two of them curiously. "Who are you to criticize her for not getting into college? As far as I know, you didn't even apply anywhere."_

_Damn right he didn't. He's not about to drop thousands of dollars that his mother_ doesn't _have when he's got no idea what the hell he wants to do with his life, but that doesn't mean he's not going anywhere. There's a Greyhound bus ticket tucked away in the top drawer of his bureau and once he's got that diploma in his hand there's nothing to keep him here. Nothing he can have, anyway._

_"This has got shit to do with me, Finn." And it's not about Finn either, he knows all about that OSU recruiter and the series of rejection letters with New York postmarks._

_ "This is _Rachel _we're talking about. Fuck, out of all of us, she's the one who should be getting out of this place."_

_Finn takes an angry step forward. "Suddenly you're all about Rachel's future? You want to be the hero after the shit you pulled earlier this year with Shelby? Hell, I'm surprised Rachel can even look at you. Give it a rest, because honestly, it's_ none _of your damn business."_

_His stomach sinks because Finn is...right. He sure as hell isn't the hero of this piece and as much as he wants it to be, this isn't his business. Shit, he and Rachel have only just started _really_ talking again, not just that crap where she asks him to pass the sheet music over or readjust the microphone stand, and that's only because she came and found him drunk off his ass on the bleachers on Beth's second birthday. (He spent the entire day waiting for nothing. Not a line from Shelby, not a single photo of Beth blowing out the candles, and the present he'd sent in the mail came back marked '_return to sender_.')_

_Apparently tears and Jack go a long way when you're trying to piece a friendship back together._

_"If New York is in the cards, it'll happen," Finn continues stubbornly. "Now if you're done talking about crap that's got_ nothing _to do with you, I've gotta get back to work."_

_And Burt's coming out of his office with that angry Papa Bear look on his face that tells him that he's heard the commotion, so he walks out before he gets thrown out. Whatever. He's got shit to do. Like figuring out how the fuck he's going to convince Rachel to get the hell out of Lima while she still can._

* * *

><p>"Noah, we're ready if you are." Rachel's soft voice snaps him out of it and he looks up at her, a smile automatically finding it's way to his face. Connor's already bouncing ahead and begging to be the one to push the buttons in the elevator and when they pass through the apartment door together, he offers her his arm and she takes it, small hand curling around his bicep comfortingly.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to know what you think. ** _


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Sorry to have been away for so long, but the holidays, both my sons' birthdays and my dad's surgery kept me busy! I hope this update begins to make up for it! As always, thank you all so much for reading!**_

* * *

><p><strong>if I could tell you<strong>

* * *

><p>It's three days of incredibly hard work but making the apartment livable, making a home for herself and Connor here in San Francisco is also intensely satisfying. Of course like anything else worth doing, there are a few wrinkles along the way.<p>

* * *

><p>Her eyes flash. "Ray. Please put the paintbrush down and move <em>slowly <em>away from the paint."

"That's cool," Ray lifts both hands in friendly surrender. "Only I thought you wanted me to start in the kitchen.

"Yes I do, however..."

"And I covered the appliances, and taped around the windows, and even put a drop-cloth on the floor, just like you asked. I've got the paint, so I think we're good to go."

"Yes, you've done a wonderful job, _sans_ one tiny detail. When you showed me the paint samples, we discussed the color '_April Morning_' which is a lovely yellow, much warmer than a lemon, but not as brassy as a tangerine. Cheerful. The kind of color you'd want to see first thing in the morning while you're lingering over a cup of tea. The color you are pouring into the roller pan is avocado. _Avocado_, Ray. The kind of dull green that you see on appliances from the 1970s or in a telemarketer's office cubicle or similarly dreary places."

"Oh right. You know, I did think it looked kind of funny for a kitchen." He smacks the side of his head. "Hey! You know what? I think this is the paint my uncle dropped off for the basement laundry room!"

"_God help us_," she says under her breath and then seeing his questioning look, pastes a smile back on. "Do you think you still have '_April Morning_' tucked away somewhere?"

"Oh for sure." There's a long pause. "Do you want me to get it?"

"Yes please, Ray."

* * *

><p>"Connor!" Rachel calls, assuming that since he's been out of her direct line of sight for two minutes, he's probably getting into trouble somewhere. Stepping into the living room, there's no Connor, but a largish box containing towels is suspiciously located in the exact center of the room.<p>

She takes a step forward and..."_Boo!_" Connor pops out of the box, a half dozen formerly neatly folded towels exploding all over the room with him.

Pressing a dramatic hand to her chest, she gasps, "My goodness, you scared me!" Connor dissolves into giggles, (and a few more towels fall to the floor) and she continues, "I know a new game! Let's play the picking up game! Let's see how long it takes you to bring the towels to Noah."

Turning to the _grown man_ who's choking back laughter from his hiding place behind the door she says sweetly, "As I recall, both you and Finn became quite adept at folding towels during your stint at _Sheets 'n Things_. And when you're done, I'm sure you can find a home for them in the linen cabinet next to the bathroom sink. Middle shelf."

* * *

><p>"Rachel, you <em>can't <em>do this on your own."

She glares at him and lets out an irritable huff of air. "Noah, of course I can do this. I have a college degree, a full set of instructions _with pictures_ no less, and they even gave me this little tool thingy..."

"Allen wrench...," he grins at her and a not inconsiderable part of her _longs_ to wipe the smug expression off his face.

"Don't interrupt. I am a competent and capable human being and if you're suggesting that the presence of a 'Y' chromosome makes me unable to put together a toddler bed, you're sadly mistaken. Actually, I'm surprised at you. I suspect your mother probably did more than her share of home-improvement tasks over the years."

"Ma doesn't know a screwdriver from a claw hammer. Nana Connie, on the other hand, re-plumbed our entire house. What that woman could do with a acetylene-torch was a thing of beauty, Rach."

"My point remains the same. I can do this!"

(That annoying little voice in the back of her head that's asking her why in the world she would pick up and move herself and her child half-way across the country if she can't even put together a stupid bed can stop any time now.)

"I know you can," he says. "But you need someone to lift the other end of the bed up while you tighten the bolts. See, it's right here in the instructions."

"Noah?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and hold up your end of the bed."

It makes her feel a tiny bit better when he does exactly that.

* * *

><p>"Now that Connor is finally napping <em>in his own bed,<em> I've decided that I don't ever want to move again," Rachel groans, stretching out to her full length and then sinking a little deeper into the soft fabric of her new couch.

"You don't have to," Noah plops down next to her, lifting her legs so that her feet lie in his lap. "In fact, you shouldn't, especially not if you're going to make me move this sofa again."

"Mmmm," she says, letting her eyes fall closed. "Sorry about that. I was sure it was going to work better across from the doorway, and then the back wall seemed so empty but I think you're right, under the window works best."

"Interior decorator. That's my next career," he says lazily and she looks at him and laughs. "No, but really," he continues, "It's starting to look pretty good in here.

"It is, isn't it?" she replies, running through the checklist in her head with a definitely sense of accomplishment. The stack of unpacked boxes is starting to shrink, there's a fresh coat of paint in the kitchen, courtesy of Ray, and best of all, she actually has furniture!

"Okay, it's settled then. We're definitely staying on this couch forever," Noah says, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Except maybe to go back to my place. The pizza place around the corner from me will do vegan and they deliver."

"We _have_ to go back to your place," she replies. "We still have a bunch of stuff there, including _all _of Connor's pajamas. But Ray is finishing the painting the bedrooms tonight, so I think tomorrow is the official move-in day."

"I figured," he says, one warm hand brushing her ankle lightly.

It's doing funny things to her breathing and she probably should move, but she's _sooo _comfortable right now. Instead she stares at the opposite wall where Noah spent the better part of half an hour carefully arranging and hanging a half-dozen framed photographs.

He follows her gaze. "I was looking for something to do when you and Connor were at the sandwich place getting lunch, so I figured I'd put them up for you. I can take them down or put them somewhere else if you want."

"No, they're perfect," she assures him, staring at the pictures: Connor as a grave, unfocused newborn, Dad and Daddy puttering in the garden, both of them in the ridiculously floppy hats she'd bought them for Father's Day that year, herself as a child dressed in a tutu, curtseying to the camera. "Just like I wanted."

He points to the central photo of the group. "That one's my favorite." She and Connor are seated at the piano. He's intent, striking the keys and obviously fascinated with the noise he's producing and she has one arm lovingly curled around him, her hand guiding his small fingers.

"It's one of mine too," she smiles. "He loves music. He'll be starting in the preschool program of the private school I'm teaching at and he'll get music enrichment three times a week. And there's art classes and swimming and a Spanish immersion program. And their college acceptance rate is...well, I'm getting a little ahead of myself there but it's an amazing opportunity for both of us."

He tilts his head to one side. "You sound like you're trying to convince someone of that," he says and when she startles he continues quickly, "Shit, I'm sorry. I'm just trying to say that you don't have to sell me."

She throws her head back and looks at the ceiling. "Maybe I am still trying to convince people that this isn't a crazy move on my part, that I actually can do this on my own. Daddy, Burt and Carole, even Emma and Will, they all supported my decision, but they don't really understand what I'm doing here."

"Why are you here?" he asks quietly and she flicks an unsure glance at him, trying to read his profile and his tone. The mood in the room has shifted and she's not sure what to make of it. He's still staring at the pictures on the far wall, but one finger is tracing a soothing pattern on her ankle.

She tries for a little levity. "A long time ago a friend told me that California is where it's at."

He shakes his head. "You still remember that? We were just kids."

"Of course I remember," she says, mock-indignantly. "I had just moved to Lima and Hannah Birnbaum's parents forced her to invite me to her Bat Mitzvah and I was miserable because I didn't know anybody until you came and sat next to in her backyard. You told me to ignore Hannah and her friends..."

"I told you they were jealous bitches," he says with a reminiscent smile.

"...and that you were going to move to California and spend your life making music."

"And then?" he prompts, raising one eyebrow.

She can feel her color rise a little but she keeps her voice light. "And then you kissed me and when I ran away you ignored me completely for the next several years." (It was her first kiss and she still remembers running home in her party dress and staring at herself in the mirror, running a fingertip along the reddened bottom lip that he'd delicately nipped. If she's being honest, kissing Noah was _always _an overwhelming experience.)

"Not quite completely," he says evenly and he's probably thinking about slushies and egging her mailbox and a dozen other things.

Or maybe he's thinking about something else entirely. Thinking about all the times when that _something_ between them acted like a magnet drawing them together, all the the kisses and near-kisses. Or even graduation night, about everything he'd blurted out to her while standing on her front porch, his fingers gripping her wrist so hard he'd left a red mark. Thinking about his mouth, hard and desperate on hers, and the way she'd clung to him until the noise of a passing car made them spring apart, both breathing hard. Maybe he's thinking about that.

She is.

It's crazy, just one of those mysteries of chemistry, but there is, there's_ always _been, an attraction between the two of them and it would be stupid to lie to herself about the fact that she enjoys it. (And god, she's tired of being stupid.) There's this certain way he has of looking at her sometimes, like she's someone he finds beautiful, desirable, even _hot_. If she's being really honest, he looks at her like she's a woman he wants to sleep with and the thought of it makes her stomach twist and a heavy warmth wind through her. She's touched herself before, thinking about it.

All very normal, especially given the fact that it's been over a year since she's been intimate with someone. And longer than that since she felt truly sexy. And no, the fact that it's incredibly inappropriate to be thinking that way about someone else's boyfriend hasn't escaped her. It's neither here nor there because she's certainly not planning on pursuing any of this and neither is he.

She needs a friend and he's not in the market for anything else.

(Beside, even if there was no Jen, her track record with relationships is pretty suspect.)

She sits up and curls up at edge of the couch, tucking her feet under her. "That's ancient history," she says and she's not sure which part of their history she's talking about. The two of them as an entity have never been easy to categorize.

"Right. But somehow history keeps coming up, doesn't it?" he says, standing up without looking directly at her. "Look, if the three of us are still doing dinner tonight, I should get some stuff done first. I really ought to check in with Josh down at the studio and the laundry situation's getting pretty dire."

_Oh. _

She thought...well she _wasn't_ thinking, not about how busy Noah must be or _oh god_, is this about her fantasies? Can he tell? Is she making him uncomfortable? Does this count as sexual harassment?

Of course it's also possible that he needs to talk to Josh and get some laundry done. Not _everything _is about her.

She really needs to work on that.

"Of course. I understand completely," she says quickly, hopping up and moving to the door ahead of him, fiddling with the safety chain so she doesn't have to make eye contact. (For some reason she's not entirely sure she can produce a convincing smile right at this second.) "Again, thank you so much for everything. I...I guess we'll see you later."

His hand is on the door-frame directly in front of her line of vision and he's standing close, but his voice is low enough that she had to strain to hear it. "Yeah, definitely. I'll give you a call."

Wait, isn't that what men say to women they _don't_ intend to call back?

"Goodbye, Noah," she replies softly. She opens the door for him and turns, stretching up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek (really it lands much closer to the corner of his mouth). His hand settles on her waist for just a second, warm and solid through the thin material of her shirt and she _does not_ want to go back in for another, slightly more centered kiss.

_Friendly. _This should not be this hard.

"Bye, Rachel," he mutters.

When the door closes behind him, she swallows hard and it's several minutes before she can force herself to go back to her unpacking.

* * *

><p>He's not entirely sure why he's out the door so damn fast and it doesn't hit him until he's halfway back to his place. God, he's so fucking stupid.<p>

He's not under any illusion that whatever connecting thread that exists between the two of them is what brought her to San Francisco. He's even wondered once or twice, mostly late at night when he can't sleep, how long it would have taken for her to get in touch with him if the apartment hadn't been a disaster. (He refuses to believe he wouldn't have looked him up at all.) No, she's here because good teaching jobs are hard to come by, or because her dad loved it here, or hell, because this is as far away from Lima as you can get without drowning.

It's got shit-all to do with him personally.

Thing is, if he's not really careful, he's going to start _wanting _it to be about him and he's been there before with Rachel Berry. Multiple times. In his experience, it doesn't end well.

And hell, it's even more complicated by the fact that he wants to kiss her. Wants to do more than that actually, wants to carry her to her bedroom and press her back into the pillows and peel off her tee-shirt and those tiny shorts (thank god some things never change) and touch and lick and caress every inch of her. Suck hard on the delicate skin just above her hip-bone and leave a mark. Nibble a damp trail to her center and tease the hell out of her until she's arching up into him. Feel those long, tanned legs tighten around his hips and sink into her...no...even better, have her ride him. All that dark hair falling into her face and his hands palming her pretty little tits, plucking at her nipples...

Behind him a car horn blares repeatedly and blows his fantasy out of the water. Green light and the traffic's moving and the asshole behind him won't lay off his horn. Fucking cab drivers are the same everywhere.

Shit, he's got to stop thinking about this and also calm the fuck down before he gets arrested or something. Right. Concentrate on driving.

He finds a parking spot and throws his truck into park and he's already thinking about it (her) again. As if past experience isn't enough, there just a whole lot of new shit to consider. There's his mom and her totally inexplicable concern, even if he's not sure what her deal is. There's Connor and maybe it's only been a few days but there's no way he's going to call him buddy and spend hours playing football in the park with him one day and then totally disappear the next. (Yeah, he's been there.) There's Rachel who's just barely out of a relationship that she's been in her entire adult life.

And damn it, there's him. He's finally settled into a nice groove. He's got a place he likes and a job he loves and Jen's making noises about introducing him to her parents and the way she's saying it, well just try to tell him that isn't about getting a little more serious, maybe even moving in together and he's not necessarily _opposed_ to the idea. But Rachel, _nine years_ and she doesn't even _do _anything but smile at him and all of a sudden everything's fucked up.

All right, not exactly.

He likes having her and Connor at his place. And you know what? Fuck his job, he hasn't taken a legit vacation day in six months and he brings home work on weekends more often than not. They owe him. As for Jen? Two weeks ago he would have said that they were solid. Now all he's sure of is that it fucking sucks being an also-ran.

He grabs his phone, flicks through his contact list and hits send. The call goes straight through to voice mail and he's not sure if he's relieved or not. "Jen, it's me. Hope your trip is going well and you're getting all those contracts signed. Give me a call when you get back." He pauses for a second. They don't usually say shit like this, because obviously they _care_, but neither of them feel the need to be all demonstrative about it. "Miss you."

What he should be doing is taking a step back and get his fucking head clear.

It's just...

His fingers hover over her name.

"Hey Rach. Six o'clock okay for dinner?...Yeah, I really do want you both to come over."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Can't stay away can he? Again, thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you think!**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: As always, thanks to all of you for reading**_.

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>By the time she's buckled Connor into his car seat and set out on the now-familiar route across town, she's worked it all out in her head. <em>Of course<em> Noah's ready to have some time to himself, he's practically been glued to her apartment for the last three days, fixing, cleaning, lifting and lugging everything in sight and she can't help worrying that homemade waffles for breakfast is a poor return for all his assistance. (In her defense, she did buy him _real _maple syrup to go on top.) Chances are he's dying to get back to his normal schedule, to have his apartment to himself and spend time with friends (and girlfriends) that don't have quite so many immediate needs to tend to.

The best thing to do is have a quick dinner and then she and Connor will make an early night of it. Well possibly the best thing would be for them to spend the night in their own apartment, with or without Connor's pajamas, but since Ray's already set up his painting gear and cranked up the _Eagles_ ("I like always paint better to '_Desperado_') to top volume, Noah's going to have to deal with them for one more night.

She's determined to give him all the space he needs and when they arrive, she keeps Connor occupied in their room (scratch that, Noah's _guestroom_) so that he can get a little more time to himself.

That lasts about twenty minutes until the delivery person, plugged into an enormous set of headphones, arrives with their pizza. She's standing in the doorway with Noah, handing him cash to split the cost, when the teen breaks into falsetto, crooning, "_You want it, you got it! If you want it, baby you've got it. Just bust a move!_" While naturally she knows that he's most likely singing the summer's dance remix of the Young MC classic, all she can think about is Will Schuester's strange obsession with rap and when Noah catches her eye and grins, she knows he's thinking about the same thing.

They manage to contain themselves until the door closes and then they both burst out laughing, leaning against the door together with Connor dancing around them, delighted, even if he doesn't understand it. Then they sit on Noah's living room floor because Connor wants a picnic and eat their pizza and discuss Mr. Schue's most memorable performance. (She maintains that the shock value secures 'Gold-digger' the top spot while Noah argues that the extreme inappropriateness of his Lil' Wayne medley senior year should be awarded extra points.)

From there they move on to other New Directions performances. Noah is forced to go to his bedroom and pull out his old guitar from under his bed to prove that he still remembers the tune to '_Big-Ass Heart_' and she's absolutely rolling on the floor laughing at the way he hums the inappropriate bits instead of singing them. (She's also wondering why he isn't playing the gorgeous new guitar on the stand right in front of him, but seeing that Gibson is like seeing an old friend and she doesn't want to question it.)

Over time and a second bottle of beer, the stories get a little more personal.

"You did not!" she squeals, tossing a throw pillow at his head from her spot in front of the couch.

He dodges and stuffs his last bite of pizza in his mouth. "Given the length of your skirts? Totally did. Seriously, you doubt me? I'm hurt, Rachel."

She flicks a quick glance through to the kitchen where Connor is making a tower with all Noah's plastic containers and then rolls her eyes at him. "Well, you I suppose I can believe, but Matt Rutherford was always so sweet!"

"Don't you believe it. Matty got a lot of play and anyway it was his idea in the first place. He even made up a chart: color, cut, material, how likely they were to match your knee-socks. If only you had spun a little faster we could have gotten some actual data," he says wistfully.

While the fifteen-year-old her might possibly have been offended at the thought of those two miscreants hoping for a glimpse of her panties, she can't raise up much indignation about it now and though she's trying hard to glare at him, she knows her lips are twitching in amusement. (The rest of her is feeling something else, something a little warmer.)

Still, sitting there across from her with a hint of his old brashness in his smile, he looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"I demand reparations," she says firmly. "You owe me another song."

"How do you figure that?" he asks. "I mean the way I see it, I've already relived my first attempts at songwriting for your entertainment. Where's the give and take? Bring on '_My Headband_.'"

"I _would_...but sadly I've completely forgotten the lyrics," she laughs, leaning forward so she can pat his leg. "_Sorry_."

"Likely story," he teases back. He stands, stretches (his shirt rides up and he's right in front of her, and so is that little strip of skin the movement reveals..._mmmm_) and collects the plates, taking them into the kitchen and she should make herself useful instead of gawking. Moving to the side table she starts to collect the cups and napkins (while Connor seems to think that his shirt is perfectly adequate to wipe his mouth with, she'd rather not encourage that) and makes a mental note to leave a lidded plastic cup with Noah for the next time they visit.

Of course, she's only presuming that he wants them to visit again. But he does seem to enjoy spending time with Connor and they've had a nice evening together and maybe instead of disappearing into her room (again, _his_ room, she needs to remember that) after bedtime, they could curl up on the couch and watch a movie together. Does he own _Funny Girl_? Probably not. And there's no way she's watching _Fight Club_ again or whatever else in that genre he's obsessed with these days. What about..."_Oof!_"

In retrospect, she should have been paying less attention to Noah's likely movie selection and more attention to where she was going because when she turns to bring everything back to the kitchen, she slams straight into him.

She drops everything and bounces backwards, eyes watering a little because she hit face-first (actually nose first) and his arms fly out to catch her, gripping her tightly by the shoulders and they both overbalance and end up pressed together from chest to thigh for a moment.

"You okay?" he asks and she must have hit him harder than she thought because he's out of breath.

"Um...I think so," she replies, bringing one hand to her face and wincing. "Sorry." She'd say more, but he's still very close and the faint spicy smell of the his soap or cologne or whatever it is, is both very familiar and also very distracting.

"Did you bump yourself? Right here? Ouch," he murmurs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with one fingertip and she kind of (completely) gets caught up in the moment because he's looking at her in _that way _again and when her tongue darts out to wet her lips, his eyes are tracing the movement and neither of them are moving back as fast as they should be or even at all and she really wants...

"_Who are you? And what _the hell_ is going on here? Puck?_"

The two of them jump apart like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on them, which in effect, it has, and Rachel peeps around his shoulder to see a tall blonde with her arms crossed, tapping one angry foot in the doorway.

Oh shit.

Noah frowns down at her briefly (wait, did she say that _out loud_?) before putting a comforting hand on her elbow. That's probably a mistake on his part because the woman (_Jen._ You know her name Rachel, don't be catty.) starts in with a few choice words and she's shocked and possibly guilty enough to let them fly over her head. Well, she catches the word hussy several times, or at least she hopes to god it's hussy, and Noah's saying something like '_old friend_' and '_it's not what it looks like_.'

Oh dear. If she thought it would be at all helpful, she'd advise him to avoid that exact wording in the future.

In the middle of the fray, her son walks out of the kitchen and straight up to her. Looking up, he tugs on her hand. "Mommy, that lady said a bad word," Connor says placidly. "You did too." Turning to Noah he asks, "Are you going to play with me now?"

* * *

><p>Son of a bitch.<p>

'_It's not what it looks like_'?

God, he wants to kick his own ass for that one because in his experience that particular phrase does nothing but make you look as guilty as hell. Which (technically) he is not. Fuck, when Rachel slammed into him it's not like he was going to let her fall and hurt herself or something (there's a _tiny_ part of him that still feels a little guilty for the buttered-floor thing junior year). And after that? He was just making sure she was okay and it's not like he was doing it with his lips or anything.

Okay, he wants to. But he wants to kiss Mila Kunis too and that's not happening any time soon either.

It takes a while for him to explain things while Rachel and Connor disappear into their room.

"So let me get this straight," Jen says sharply. "This woman from your former Glee Club shows up on your doorstep with a kid...and by the way, what the hell is a Glee Club and in what universe would you be part of one?"

"That's...kind of a long story, actually." So there may be a few things he's never really gotten around to telling her about. Sure, Jen met his mom and sister the last time they were visiting (not like he had much of a choice on that one actually) but other than that they don't exactly talk much about his past. He's got a photograph or two lying around, but that's it. Shit, half the reason he moved out here was to get away from all that small-town bullshit, particularly when it's a small town that's seen and enjoyed every misstep you and your family has ever made.

"Never mind. She's _living_ here?"

"Just for a couple of days," he says defensively. "While her apartment gets fixed up."

"Well, I had to ask. I mean she looks awfully comfortable here and I have to assume that's her soygurt in the refrigerator. Not to mention the fact that she's currently reading bedtime stories to her son in your spare bedroom. The child that you assure me isn't yours."

"No. _Connor_ isn't mine," he grits out, trying to hold on to his temper. "I told you that. Rachel and I ran into each other once in Lima about two years ago and that's the extent of it since high school."

"Well then," she snipes back, "Forgive me if I'm a little confused because you know what, Puck? It's _strange_ that a woman you've seen once in a decade shows up here out of the blue, it's _strange_ that you moved her in here when giving her the number of a decent hotel would have been sufficient and most of all, it's _strange _that this is the first I've heard of it. What exactly am I supposed to think? Especially when I cut my trip a day short and came straight from the airport especially to be with you."

Truth? He hasn't figured out what he should be thinking about the whole damn mess himself.

"Hell if I know," he says firmly. "But I can tell you this. She's my friend and I'm not turning my back on her or her kid."

Like on cue, Rachel and a mutinously scowling Connor re-appear with (fuck) that damned backpack over her shoulder. "We're just about ready to go, so..."

"Wait, what about your apartment?" he asks, at the same time Connor is muttering, "I said I want to _play_!" and he's caught between smiling and trying to bury the stupid pang of disappointment he's feeling.

"I've already called Ray and told him to put away the paint and brushes for the night." She turns to him. "Thank you so much for everything, but we shouldn't take advantage of your hospitality any longer."

"Don't go," Jen says suddenly.

Huh? That's...surprising and he's got to admit the abrupt turn around is kind of fucking with his head.

"I'm sorry?" Rachel says cautiously.

"_I_ should be the one saying that to _you_," Jen smiles brightly. "I have to admit that I was somewhat taken aback at first but stay for a few minutes and we can get to know each other. I won't keep you for long because I'm sure you're dying to get home and tuck this adorable little munchkin into bed..." She gives a little wave to Connor who keeps his hand firmly wrapped around the hem of his mother's shirt and he doesn't entirely blame the kid because Jen's kinda showing a lot of teeth. "...but since you and Noah are such old friends, we should be friends too."

"Um...well, I suppose we could...," Rachel says, and if that glance she's shooting him is meant to be a request for guidance, he's got nothing.

"Of course you can!" Jen says, seating herself on the couch and patting the spot next to her. "So, I understand you're re-decorating? Tell me more about that."

Awesome. There's no possible way this can go wrong.

He looks down at Connor who's yanking clothes and shit out of the backpack in an attempt to get at his toys (he gets a flash of panty and_ fuck_, is that lace?).

"All right kiddo," he says, "looks like it's just you and me for the moment. What do you want to do?"

* * *

><p>Rachel and Connor leave after an awkward half hour and now it's just him and Jen (still awkward, but whatever) and once he's done asking about her trip, neither of them seem have much to say. He offers her something to eat, but she says that she's already had a bite and that she's going to take a long shower to wash the airport smell off. (She looks fine, so is it shitty that he thinks she's mostly just pissed that she had to fly coach again?) He picks up a little and then settles down on the couch with the last of the six-pack to watch the Giants-Padres game. By the time Jen gets out of the bathroom, San Francisco actually has a no-hitter going in the seventh, so apparently that means it's time to talk.<p>

"She is just _so_ sweet," Jen chirps as she sinks down next to him on the couch.

"Who, Rachel?" he asks, surprised, looking away from the screen.

"Yes, Rachel," she says acidly and then when he blinks, the smile is back.

"Yeah, I guess," he replies and he's not trying to be a wise-ass, there's just a million things he thinks about Rachel: she's tough, stubborn, funny, talented and sexy as fuck. Sweet doesn't even make the top ten.

"I do feel a little sorry for her, though" Jen says with a sigh. "It's so hard to meet new people when you move to a big city like this. It must be a such huge transition for her. There must be a book group somewhere in her neighborhood, or maybe she does scrap-booking or knitting. I could get my legal assistant to do some research and make up a list."

Knitting? Connor would stab someone with one of the needles in under three minutes. "I don't think that's..."

"It's really no problem, Sandi doesn't mind. Wait, here's an even better idea. We could set Rachel up with Neil!"

All of a sudden, the pizza isn't sitting well in his stomach at all and he takes another swig of his beer. "The guy from accounting? I don't think so_._Isn't he like, forty or something?"

"He'd be perfect! I'm almost certain he has kids so they'd have something in common and besides that means that unlike here, his place is bound to be child-proofed. Connor is a little doll, but I don't know how Rachel isn't a total wreck what with all the sharp corners and choking hazards and breakable things around here. I know my heart was in my throat when he was grabbing at the guitar I got you for your birthday last year."

"The guitar was fine," he says shortly, trying to cut her off before she starts going on about how he never plays the thing (it's a _beautiful_vintage Martin D-45 Dreadnought, but the damn thing costs more than the car his mother drives). "And look, Rachel's just barely out of her marriage, so I seriously doubt she's looking for something like that right now."

"And that would be with Connor's father? Do you know him?"

"I knew him. We all went to high school together." Among other things. And this? This is why he doesn't talk about high school. Or Lima. Or Finn, Rachel, or really any combination that includes any of them.

"Oh, were they high school sweethearts? That's so sad! Do you think there's any chance of them getting back together? For Connor's sake I mean."

"Rachel and Finn? No." Fuck, he hopes not, but even as she's saying it, he's remembering the maybe five minutes of junior year that he thought that Rachel was really over Hudson, (also known as the five minutes he thought he might have a chance). Didn't last then.

This is different, though.

_It is. _

Shit, Jen's still talking and now she's looking kinda pissy. What did he miss?

"So are you coming to bed or not?" she asks, standing and stretching in front of him.

"Um, yeah," he replies, trying to sneak a peek at the television screen where the Giant's pitcher has just issued a walk. "You go ahead and I'll be in as soon as the game's over. It's already the eighth inning, so I shouldn't be long."

"Choosing baseball over your girlfriend, Puck?" she says archly, making a tiny face.

Shit. "Jen, it's a _no-hitter_," he explains.

"A no-hitter? Aren't they _supposed_ to hit the ball?"

He barks out a laugh. "You really want an answer to that?"

"You're right, much too dull. Anyway, I'm exhausted, so don't take long," she says, leaning down to kiss him.

She's only been gone a week, so why should it feel so strange?

* * *

><p>The Padres break up the no-no in the ninth for the tie and the game ends up going thirteen innings before San Diego pulls a win out of their ass with a bloop single. When he turns out the lights and slips into bed next to Jen, he's careful not to wake her. She said she was tired. He's being considerate.<p>

* * *

><p>He wakes up early and pads quietly into the kitchen in his boxers to start the coffee maker. While he's at it, he throws some whole-wheat bread in the toaster and starts the kettle for her tea because she probably won't sleep in, even though she ought to be fucking exhausted, especially given their activities last night. (He allows himself a smirk because, yeah, it was a <em>good<em>night. Repeatedly.)

He's just digging through the cupboard for that almond butter shit that she likes when a pair of arms wrap around him from behind. "Hey! You didn't wake me," she pouts.

"Sorry, baby," he says soothingly, "You know what Doctor Wu said. You need your rest." He turns to face her and _oh fuck_, she's in one of his white dress-shirts and that's it. It's buttoned low, and he absolutely _has _to trail a finger down the vee of exposed skin, while the his other hand slides underneath up to her hip and _jackpot_, no panties. That and the noise she makes, a sigh that's almost a moan, has him hard in an instant and she knows it, pressing herself against him teasingly.

"Dr. Wu is an old fuss-budget," she says breathlessly. "You'd think he'd never seen a pregnant woman before."

He damn well better have because this guy is supposed to be the top OBGYN in the Bay area. Only the best for his girl and their tiny alien baby. (He's smart enough to keep it to himself but those ultrasound pictures are kind of freaky.)

"Besides, I don't want to think about Dr. Wu," she continues. "We've got the place to ourselves this morning and I want to finish what I started last night."

What she started?...Oh fuck yes! A good morning is getting better and better because she's sinking down to her knees in front of him and tugging his boxers down, nuzzling her nose and cheek against him and blowing a warm stream of air against his skin. Her small hand circles him and strokes him slowly, her wrist twisting just the way he likes, while she tongues his slit and then takes him in a few inches, all warm and wet around him, before backing off.

"Baby, _baby, please_," he whines and fuck you, he loves morning head and if he has to beg for her to hurry the hell up and suck his dick, it's totally worth it. He wraps both hands in her dark hair, still all tousled and curly from their wild night, not to guide her because Rachel is just _so so so _good at this, but because for some reason he desperately wants her to look up at him and she does, her brown eyes wide and her smile takes his breath away. (Well, that and the fact that she's licking her lips.)  
><em><br>Hold on. Something's not right. _

No, forget it, fuck, he's an asshole. Rachel's hot mouth is on his cock again and her tongue is doing this thing along the underside that he _loves_, so what the fuck could be wrong? Not when he's brushing the back of her throat and she's swallowing around him and just like that he's so fucking close.

_Rachel._

Damn it all to hell, he's fucking _dreaming_ again and just as the thought appears in his head, all the pieces start to disappear, the kitchen, the smell of coffee, the gentle curve of her stomach, all of it is fading away..._only not entirely_.

Because even though he's opening his eyes in his own bedroom with the morning sun streaming through the windows, he's definitely got his hands wrapped up in someone's hair, only it's the wrong color and texture and more to the point, someone _definitely_ has her mouth wrapped around him and is moving up and down only it's Jen, not Rachel. He's just...it's totally fucked up but..._god_...it feels so good and then before he can get his shit together, he's coming hard, spurting up into her mouth, and at the same time biting his bottom lip so hard he tastes blood.

In a few minutes he returns the favor. It's part of his code, hell, it's _all _of his code, and besides there's not single solitary reason why he shouldn't be fucking his girlfriend.

* * *

><p>After he's in the shower for a really long time, the hot water pouring down his back while he rests his forehead on the cold tile, unable to stop running it all through in his head. Shit. There's not a single reason not to except that he wants the wrong girl.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Poor Puck, huh? Your feedback is always appreciated. ** _


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: As always, thank you so much for interest and support! I also wanted to clear something up from the last chapter: Jen is definitely not pregnant. (Nor will she be!) Puck was dreaming about Rachel the entire time. I'm so sorry to have made people nervous!**_

* * *

><p><strong>if I could tell you<strong>

* * *

><p>Jen doesn't like her.<p>

Rachel figures that out in the first five minutes of being in the woman's company and she's actually rather proud of the way she identifies the subtle jabs strewn throughout Jen's monologue because that kind of thing used to be difficult for her to parse out. Honestly, she's fine with it because she's years past being needing affirmation from virtual strangers and _certainly_ she's years past realizing that hostility can easily be cloaked in sweet words and smiles.

Hmmm. At least she got something out of her 'friendship' with Quinn. (Quinn who came back to Lima once a year from Connecticut with her hedge-fund manager husband in tow and _every single time_ insisted on taking she and Finn out to a dinner she must have known they couldn't afford at the only French restaurant in town.)

This might be horrible to say because she barely knows Jen, but the woman reminds her a lot of Quinn Fabray. They're the same physical type of course: tall, blonde and well put together in a way that usually makes her think she's got a smudge on her face. (Is it that Noah likes blondes? Or just bitches? _Oh god._Pretend she didn't think that.) And of course there's the slightest hint of a nasal tone to both of their voices sets her teeth on edge. What? She can't help having perfect pitch.

Truthfully, she thinks as she fakes a polite smile and plans her exit strategy, whether it's her voice or the poorly concealed condescension, or something else entirely, she doesn't like Jen either.

* * *

><p>It's <em>different<em> waking up in her own apartment. Mostly different-wonderful she decides, firmly ignoring the underlying feeling that something is missing and taking her cup of tea to curl up in a chair overlooking the street. It's not eight yet, but even on a Sunday morning the delivery trucks are already starting to rumble past and the occasional runner or dog-walker zips by and the tiny market on the corner is bringing in bundles of newspapers and putting out displays of fruit and buckets of flowers.

It feels right and she tries out the word _home_ for size, her lips curving into a smile around it. The mug warms her hands and with each sip she can feel a little bit more of the tension that's been keeping her continually on the move the last few months seep out of her bones. There's still more to do around the apartment and tomorrow morning she's bringing Connor to school for a tour of his classroom and of course she needs to get to work organizing her office (she has an office!) and writing lesson plans, but today maybe they can take it easy. She's already checked online and the local branch of the public library is open in the afternoon and as for this morning, Noah drove them both past a neighborhood playground yesterday. Connor had squealed in excitement and Noah had said that they could...

Never mind. Things are different now. (Again.) Jen is back and she's made it quite clear that...well, Rachel can take Connor to the park on her own, that's all.

"Hi, Mama," Connor's sleepy voice says from doorway, his face almost cut in half by a giant yawn.

"Hi sweetie," she smiles, holding out her arms for him. "How did you sleep?"

"Good," he says, crawling up into her lap and settling against her shoulder. "I like my big-boy bed."

"Mommy _made_ that bed for you," she says with pride. (Ha! Take that instructions written in seventeen languages and incomprehensibly tiny tools!)

"Noah too," he argues, squirming in her arms, looking around. "Where did he go?"

Her throat tightens up a little bit. Maybe she should have predicted this. "Baby, Noah doesn't live here, he lives across town, remember?"

He scrunches up his face, obviously thinking about it. "Okay," he nods finally. She hugs him tight and just when she's starting to breathe normally again, he adds, "But when will he get here?"

"You like him, don't you?" she asks and when he bounces a little in excited agreement, she continues, speaking carefully because she needs him to understand this. "Sweetheart, Noah likes you too, but he's got work and he's got other friends and we're not going to be able to see him as much."

(Certainly not if Jen has anything to say about it.)

Connor giggles and pats her face. "Silly Mommy," he murmurs. He hops down and disappears down the hallway. "I'm _hungry_."

"You're _always_ hungry," she teases, following him. "What should we make for breakfast this morning?"

"Waffles!" comes the small voice from the kitchen.  
><em><br>Of course._

* * *

><p>The two of them are just finishing up the breakfast dishes (Connor is happily 'washing' his cup and is up to his elbows in suds) when she hears an unexpected knock at the apartment door. She glances at the clock. Odd. Ray isn't supposed to be here for another few hours, but then she's already gotten the sense that conventional standards of time don't mean a lot to him. Wiping her hands on the dishcloth, she crosses the hall to the door and pulls it open.<p>

"Ray, I think..."

"No, it's me." Instead of her slightly confused superintendent, Noah is leaning on the door frame, looking incredibly handsome (absolutely objective fact) in a button-down shirt and vest combination with a pair of blue-jeans that (_dear lord_) ride low on his hips. "Look, if this is a bad time...," he says quickly.

It takes a bit of effort to drag her eyes back up to his face and she's feeling flustered enough to blurt out the first thing she can think of. "Not at all...what are you...how did you get in here?"

"Ray's doing some painting downstairs," he replies, briefly scanning her cotton shorts and top and messy ponytail in a way that doesn't make coherent thought any easier. "He let us in."

"That's right. He told me that he was so inspired by painting my apartment that he was going to create a mural in the entry way."

He shakes his head disbelievingly. "A mural? Rach, he's just painting one big blue square."

The corners of her mouth quirks up. "That's probably why it's titled _'blue square'_," she says dryly and then the rest of his earlier statement hits her. "Let _us_in? Is Jen here?"

He lets out a little huff of air. "Yeah, she's just finishing up a call. Some work stuff, I guess." He jerks his head towards the stairwell and leaning of the doorway she sees Jen at the end of the hall, wearing a beautifully cut sheath dress in a shade of pale green that Rachel adores but can't wear because it washes her out. Her phone is pressed to one ear and the acoustics must be unusually good because Rachel can hear her clearly.

"No, you'll need to drop the Columbia contract...Honestly Sandi, do I have to do everything for you? Simply tell Vincent that you're too busy to take it on, I've got a new project in the works for you. I'll fill you in later...Well, cancel that too, I need you on-call."

She ends the call and waves a perfectly manicured hand and Rachel wishes she had time to fix her hair or change into something that at minimum isn't stained, but of course they're both right there on the doorstep and Jen has already accepted her half-hearted invitation to come in.

"Jen, how...," surprising...slightly appalling...frankly a little shocking, "_nice _to see you again. What brings you here this morning?"

"We can't stay for long," the woman replies brightly, ignoring the question, "One of the senior partners at my firm is hosting a brunch, just a little impromptu gathering, but of course I keep telling Puck that every contact helps when you're in the entertainment industry like we are." Smiling fondly at him, she continues, "If only I could convince him into a tie and out of those old jeans."

That leads to _such _an inappropriate visual. She's got a get a grip on herself.

"This place is adorable!" Jen says as she glances around the small living room. "You're doing so much with the amount of space you have! But you really should think about moving to a building with a doorman. This neighborhood is a little on the sketchy side. And that strange man who let us in...he can't really be the building superintendent?"

She and Noah both speak at once: "_Ray's been very helpful..._." and, "_Jen, the neighborhood is fine..._." and then break off awkwardly.

Jen's smile falls away for an instant and then she moves to Noah's and wraps her arm around his (she's not jealous, she can't possibly be jealous of a simple gesture) and says, "I'm sure Rachel knows I'm just trying to be helpful. She's a single mother, sweetheart, not some bohemian college student or a starving musician, she has _responsibilities_. And speaking of that, where is our little friend?" Turning to Rachel she confides, "I just can't get over how adorable your Connor is with Puck. It's strange, I've never thought of Puck as being particularly good with children, but my goodness, watching the two of them together gives me all sorts of ideas!"

Her eyes widen and she flashes a glance at Noah and watches his face tighten for just an instant in a way she recognizes. _Beth._Does Jen really not know? The fall of her senior year things with Shelby were constantly teetering between merely awkward and incredibly painful, so she'd only seen Noah and Beth together a handful of times, but even that limited access was more than enough to see how much the two of them adored each other.

"What?" Jen asks almost sharply. "You seem surprised."

"No," she replies quickly, blinking back an image of Beth's chubby little hands reaching for Noah and then her crow of delight when he blew a raspberry on her tummy. "I've...um...I've just seen him with his little sister, that's all. They've always been close." If she doesn't know, Rachel is certainly not going to be the one who tells her.

"Becca. We've met," Jen sniffs and Noah loses snorts and pinches his lips together to hold in a smile. Obviously, something went on there and suddenly she feels both a huge wave of affection for Becca and the urge to offer home-baked cookies for the whole story. Does Noah still like oatmeal-raisin best? Maybe she should mail a batch to Becca.

All at once, Connor barrels into the room at top speed. (Otherwise known as his only speed.)

"Hi! Noah! Hi!" he shouts, smearing Jen's dress liberally with soap-suds while he attaches himself to Noah's leg and then shrieks with laughter when the man swings him up and tickles him.

Jen on the other hand, is just shrieking.

Three minutes later, the two of them are crowded in the bathroom, dabbing at the dress with a damp wash cloth.

"You can send me the dry-cleaning bill," Rachel offers, battling an unworthy grin as she dabs at the fabric. Truthfully, Connor has probably done Jen and her 'ideas' a favor. Children and messes go hand in hand together and this is nothing compared to what Connor could do with access to finger-paints, or possibly a mud puddle.

And on that note, are they thinking about having children? (She does not in any way, shape or form want to think about them _practicing_. At all. _Ever_.) They've been together for more than a year now, so how serious are they? Serious like moving in? Serious like _marriage_? Not that it's any of her business.

Darn it, she's dabbing too hard.

"Never mind," Jen says coolly, pulling away. "I have a closet full of dresses and the firm pays for my dry-cleaning. That's not what I'm here for anyway." She reaches into her expensive-looking handbag and pulls out a well-thumbed paperback copy of _Good Night Moon_. "I found this in the spare bedroom and presumably it's yours." She smiles tightly. "We're both so busy and I would hate for you to have to make the trip all the way across town for nothing."

"How _thoughtful_," she replies, every bit as insincerely but before the whole thing devolves into name-calling, hair-pulling or any other ridiculous cliche there's a sharp knock on the door.

"You two okay in there?" Noah's voice cautiously sounds from the other side.

"Just fine!" the two of them chime in tandem response and there's a short almost-scuffle for the door handle which Jen wins. (Of course she does since the woman is in heels, while Rachel is wearing the bunny slippers that Burt helped Connor pick out for Mother's Day.)

He's standing directly outside, looking concerned, which is silly considering that she's _got_to be the least threatening of his ex-girlfriends. (Yes, it was only a week, but it still counts.) She'd like to see Jen say something snide to Quinn or Santana. And Lauren would probably sit on her and then apply a half-nelson or a full-nelson or whatever it was she did on the wrestling team.

He's not really looking at Jen, though. He's looking at her.

"Good, you got it back," he says, gesturing to the slim volume.

"Yes, thank you. It's one of Connor's favorites," she replies, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, I know." (Of course he does. Two nights ago, he sat on his couch with Connor tucked under his arm, reading it to him.) "On that note," Noah continues, "he's gone to his room to get his truck book."

She winces a little bit because the truck book has been on heavy rotation for a while and she's definitely ready for some new reading material. Perhaps they can branch out to boats or airplanes. "We're headed out to the playground this morning, but I'm planning a library trip for this afternoon."

"He'll like that," Noah says quietly. "I wish I could..."

But Jen has clearly had enough with not being the center of attention. "The library? Does he read by himself yet? I'm sure they must have books on tape if you're too busy to read to him yourself. And speaking of busy, we should be going." She latches on to Noah again while Rachel _tries_to stop gritting her teeth. "I was just telling Rachel what a crazy couple of weeks we have coming up, especially you!" Tilting her head at Rachel, she continues, "I'm sure he must have told you all about his big meeting with Jared tomorrow."

"Jared?" Rachel asks curiously.

Jen raises one eyebrow. "Jared Lofts? The New Rules? You must have heard of them, they were nominated for best new artist at the Grammys this year..."

She must have missed that. Sue her, she was a little busy filing for divorce.

"...which makes them the hottest thing on the label, and of course Puck signed them and is responsible for keeping them, or really _Jared_, happy. He must have been spending loads of time getting ready for it this week. At least that was the plan before I went to L.A.."

"No, he didn't say...," Rachel trails off unsurely.

Noah shrugs dismissively. "It's just a pre-production meeting. We're totally ready for it."

Jen stares at him in exaggerated horror. "Ready for it? For his first album he wanted a background vocals from a South African children's choir for one of the tracks. You spent the better part of a month arranging it. And you know better than anyone how easily he could be snapped up by a major label."

"It was an Ukrainian children's choir," Noah grunts. "And don't worry about Jared. I've got it covered."

"Oh course you do!" Jen says sweetly. "I understand how important your career is to you."

_Naturally_ she does. Would it be rude to roll her eyes? Yes, definitely. Still, she can't help worrying...

Noah actually _does_ roll his eyes only it's at_ her._"Stop panicking, Rachel. Like I said, it's all good."

Hmmph. She used to be a better actress than this. (Only not really with Noah, somehow.)

"But yeah," he continues, checking the time, "If we're not going to be late for this brunch crap, we've got to take off."

Jen looks like she doesn't know whether to be relived or irritated, but before she can comment either way, her phone rings and she checks the display with a heavy sigh. "I've got to take this. It's Bernie from contracts and you know he can't get anything done without me."

Noah nods absently. "You go ahead, I'll be down in a minute."

She doesn't look all that happy at the prospect of leaving the two of them alone together, even with Connor as chaperone, but apparently Bernie from contracts has enough pull for Jen to risk it, and after a squeeze of Noah's arm and an air-kiss and a sharp look directed at her, she disappears down the hallway.

With Jen gone, he's standing a bit closer, but still with that abstracted look, almost a frown, on his face, his hands digging into his pockets. "I'm sorry I just dropped in like that and you know, about everything. I tried to call first, but it went straight to voice-mail and Jen seemed to think...anyway, I wanted to make sure Connor got his book back."

She thanks him again, playing with the slightly frayed hem of her shirt.

"I need to talk to you about some stuff," he says quietly. "I just don't know when I'm going to be able to..."

"If it's about..." She interrupts, then stops, wets her lip nervously and enunciates carefully, "If it's about _Beth_, don't worry, I won't say anything to Jen about her. You don't even have to talk about it to me unless you want or need a friendly ear. It is kind of a big part of your past though." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Mine too, what with Shelby and all. I've been in Lima for so long, where not only does _everyone_ knows everything but they also feel absolutely no hesitation whatsoever in bringing it up whenever the mood strikes. I would imagine that a certain amount of anonymity must be an amazing relief and I wouldn't ruin that for you."

He scrubs one hand along his scalp. "Beth and Shelby? That's part of it, but there's...I've got to get some shit straightened out first. Can I call you sometime later this week? Maybe we can hit that playground again with Connor."

"Of course you can," she says, leaning towards him and putting her hand on his forearm. "I'd like that. We'd _both_ like that."

"Say goodbye to him for me?" he asks and when she nods, he leans down and kisses her as her eyelids flutter closed, just a quick brush of his lips against hers.

It's gentle and almost weightless and for her anyway, there's absolutely _nothing _innocent about it. She can feel a low burn spreading heat along the surface of her skin and she has to clench her hands to stop herself from yanking him against her and going back for more.

Connor calls from his bedroom and they step back from each other and say a hurried goodbye and as Rachel goes through her very busy day, she tries to forget that there was a moment where she'd forgotten about Connor, forgotten about Jen, forgotten about everything but the fact that she was Rachel and he was Noah and she wanted him to press her up against the wall and make her moan out his name.

On the whole, she's not very successful with that.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Hmmm. That kiss was a little bit of a tease, wasn't it? I'm going to do my best to include a real one next time! And of course, we'll find out what's being going on in Puck's head. As always, I'd love to know what you think!**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: As always, thank you so much for reading! I can't tell you how much I appreciate your response to this story and I hope you enjoy this installment!**_

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>Puck stays in the shower as long as he can, long enough to feel half-drowned and almost lightheaded with all the steam swirling around the small room. Shit. He can't hide in his damn bathroom all day and besides, there's probably not enough hot water in the world for him to feel better about this situation. Finally, he gives up trying and cranks the water off, wrapping a towel around his hips and stepping out. Out of the corner of his eye he catches a glance of himself in the mirror and pauses to stare at the blurred outlines of his own indistinct reflection. Suddenly, it hits him: he's done this before.<p>

Him and Jen? Wherever they were headed before (before Rachel, even if he doesn't want to admit it), this is just a repeat of that bullshit where he's with someone for the wrong reasons. Hell, he spent most of high school thinking that being with someone was going to be some kind of magic short-cut to whatever it was he thought he needed. Quinn, Santana, even Shelby (fuck, _especially _Shelby) and truth be told, they'd gone ahead and done the same thing right back to him.

But he's not some stupid, desperate kid from Lima any more, he hasn't been for years and there's no way he's going to back to that same old shit again. Maybe it's unfair or misguided or maybe he's just being an asshole because nothing about this is her fault, but he needs to break up with Jen.

Fuck. How the hell is he going to do that?

No really, he's _asking_.

This is kind of strange for a grown-ass man to be saying, but he's never really broken up with anyone before. High school speaks for itself and after that his relationships either didn't last long enough to merit the term or just drifted apart when shit came up. (It's not like he was looking for something long-term anyway.) The most he's ever done along that line is avoid someone's phone calls and he's sure as hell not going to to do that here. He's been with Jen for well over a year now, so the least he can do is not be a fuck about it.

But then just telling her flat out seems crazy-hard too. What's he going to say? Obviously reputation and credit score are out and '_I'll never be able to think of you as anything other that the person who knocked me up and ruined my life_' isn't going to work either.

_'It's just bad timing_'?

'_You deserve better_'?

'_I don't want to waste your time while I figure out what the hell this woman that I've never been able to forget actually means to me now that she's across town and single_'?

Scratch that last one. There's no real need to bring Rachel's name into it.

He needs to do this shit for _himself_: it's not _all_ about Rachel, even if he can't stop dreaming about her. And yeah, he recognizes exactly how fucked up it is to be dreaming about her in that particular way. Not the blow job. No need to go into too much detail but that's definitely not the first time his subconscious has suggested that he wants her lips around his cock. Hell, his _conscious_ is fully aware of that. No, what really gives him the shakes, even now, is the _rest _of it. The two of them together. Her pregnant with his kid and happy about it.

_(He can't_. He just can't. That kind of thing doesn't happen for him.)

He looks down and he's gripping the edge of the vanity so hard, his fingers are cramping and he lets go just to make sure he can. From the other side of the door, Jen is calling his name, telling him he needs to hurry up for that brunch thing she'd slipped past him while he was still reeling from his orgasm.

He kind of hates it when she does that.

Never mind. It gives him a little more time to figure shit out because he's not enough of an asshole to dump her an hour before she has to go be all social with the partners at her firm.

Sure. A little more time, a few days at the most, is all he needs.

* * *

><p>So, that thing where he's waiting? Three hours in and it's seeming like less and less of a good idea because <em>Jen<em> decides that she wants to fucking stop off at _Rachel's_ place. Really? 'Cause last time he checked, they were all years out of high school and yet here they are. And okay, maybe she has a point, but if Jen should be angry with anyone, it's him. Instead, she's being kind of a fake bitch to Rachel (what, you think he's not going to recognize that? Quinn lived in his goddamn _house_ for three months). As if that wasn't enough he's almost surprised that she hasn't _literally_ tried to piss all over him yet because that's how hard the woman's trying to mark her territory. (He has the distinct memory of laughing his ass off when it was Santana and Mercedes circling each other sophomore year. God, he was a dick sometimes, but karma can still fuck right off any time now.)

And sure, Rachel is more than holding her own but hell, what does it say about him when he doesn't put a stop to it before it can even start, doesn't head Jen off with some stupid excuse (please bitch, he's got a million), doesn't _mail_ the damn book back if he has to?

It's just that he wants to see Rachel. He wants to see Connor. He wants to tease her about the bunny slippers and read the truck book and take the two of them to the playground like he'd promised. He wants to slide his hand along the soft skin of at the small her back and press her close and see if she'll gasp and arch against him like she did years and years ago on her front porch.

He's not going to, of course. No, he's the idiot who's going to go socialize with the lawyers.

And then he swears, that kiss, it was _meant _to be the chaste kind of kiss you give out to your maiden aunt in the receiving line at a family wedding. (Does it mean anything that the closest thing that he has to a maiden aunt is Ma's second cousin from Reno who usually has one too many G&T's and ends up squeezing his ass?) Only instead of going for her cheek, he somehow hones in on her mouth and even that brief touch is enough to shake him completely. Damn, she's good at keeping him on his toes.

It's probably best that he stays away from Rachel until this whole thing is straightened out. And then he'll be single and she'll be single and fuck, he doesn't know, they can be single together for a while. Or something.

Oh please. Like he's got it all figured out.

* * *

><p>He could call her though, right? (Loophole!)<p>

* * *

><p>"Hey Rach."<p>

"Noah! I didn't expect...How was your brunch?"

"It was okay. They like to talk music." Fuck, do they ever. As far as he can tell at least half of the people Jen works with think that they could have been the next big thing if they hadn't gone to law school. "I'm at the studio now."

"Really? It's getting late. Connor's been in bed for for a few hours, now. Getting ready for your big day tomorrow?" she asks.

"Yeah, Josh ended up needing something, but he's out on a burrito run so I'm taking a break. How'd your day go?"

He settles back into his chair, smiling slightly, as Rachel tells him about the neighborhood playground and how she met a young couple with a two-year-old daughter who actually live on the second floor of her apartment building at the slides and how Connor tried to give names to all the dogs he met in the park.

* * *

><p>"So how was your first visit to your school? Met your boss, yet?" he asks, the phone pressed to his ear with his shoulder while he picks his way through his sweet and sour pork. Total guilty pleasure and thank god the place next to the studio delivers until midnight because it looks like it's going to be another long one.<p>

"She seems very nice! And my new office is neat as a pin and the last teacher left meticulous lesson plans. Best of all, Connor really seems to like his preschool teacher. She won his heart by bringing out the race track for him to play with while we talked. But never mind that! I called because I want to know how your meeting went!"

"Good. Really good, I think, but it's hard to tell," he says scrubbing his hand over his scalp. "Jared's...Jared, I guess. Kid's barely twenty and he's got a ton of talent, but damn, he's stubborn when he wants something."

"He should hold on to that," she says quietly and he recognizes that note in her voice.

"Rach..."

Before he can say anything else, she continues on brightly, "So is there another Ukrainian Children's Choir in your future?"

He lets it drop.

"No, but if you know of a good zither player, let me know."

* * *

><p>"Is this a bad time?" he asks when she answers the phone after four rings, slightly breathless.<p>

"Noooo, he's almost asleep. I'm just getting him a drink and settling him down with his song. Can I call you back in five minutes?"

"Can I listen in?" he says without thinking.

"_Noah_," she says and he wonders if she's biting her lip.

"_Come on,_" he coaxes. "I've barely heard you sing since you got here. That can't be right."

He manages to sweet-talk her into it, and she sings a simple, plaintive song about a freight-train and the Blue Ridge Mountains. It's not the same voice he remembers from high-school. This voice is sadder, richer, more like he remembers Shelby's voice being in some ways. But she's still got that pull, that magic that communicates every emotion she's got like it's slapped on a billboard in Times Square and it makes him want to say shit, to lay himself bare in a way he hasn't done in years, not with anyone.

Instead he takes it apart in his head in the way he knows how to do now. If he had her in the studio would he change the key? Up the tempo? No, but maybe add a background vocalist or an acoustic guitar on the chorus to act as a counterpoint.

(Self defense or cowardice? He uncomfortably sure it's one of the two.)

"You sound good, Rachel," he says when she picks up the phone again, Connor sound asleep in his bed. What he hopes his voice tells her is that he means _amazing_.

* * *

><p>"What happened with Shelby and Beth?" she asks in a voice so low, it's almost a whisper. "Do you ever get to see her? Beth, I mean."<p>

So all right, he's not over it exactly, but it doesn't eat away at him the way it used to, probably because he doesn't _let_ it. And that works because he doesn't talk about it. He doesn't keep her school pictures out, he's not crying in his beer over it, he doesn't react when his mother invariably brings her up every year. (She wants to atone for something from high school, she should feel guilty about shaving the 'hawk. Now _that _was a travesty.) Still, there's something easy about sharing secrets in the middle of the night with Rachel Berry, even when she's across town probably safely tucked into her own bed. (He hasn't asked. Too much temptation.)

"Sometimes. Not as much as I'd like," he says, throwing an arm over the empty pillow next to him and pressing the phone a little closer to his ear with the other.

He gets the pictures regularly and sometimes phone calls, but it's hard to keep up because, well, because Shelby is kind of a flake. It took him years to realize it, but the disappearing trick she pulled senior year wasn't _all_ him. Turns out, it's kind of her thing. (Maybe if he'd been talking to Rachel then, she could have clued him in on that, since she'd already been on the receiving end of that more than once.) Shelby moves around a lot and there's always a new job or a new relationship that's going to be just perfect, right up until the point that it isn't. There was a six-month stretch about three years ago when she was directing community theater in Marin and he got to see Beth every week, even coached her youth soccer team. When Shelby moved them both to Taos at the end of the season it was...shit, it was fucking _hard_.

"It's way better than nothing though," he tells Rachel. "Beth is starting to use e-mail and Shelby says she'll give her a cell phone for her next birthday. And you know, she knows who I am, knows that I love her and I think she _gets _it. Why we gave her up. She's kind of amazing. Really smart and athletic-she's the top scorer on her team. And god, is she outspoken. I don't even know where that comes from but I swear sometimes she reminds me of you more than anything else." Rachel's been quiet for a while and now he's starting to worry. "I'm probably talking too much," he says apologetically.

"No," she assures him. "I'm happy for you, I truly am. Maybe at one point it was hard for me to think about Beth but that was a long time ago. Before I saw the two of you together. Before I had Connor."

"What about you?" he asks. "Has Shelby been in touch?" He's not going to be surprised if she has been, Shelby's asked him if he still talks to Rachel more than once.

"Oh, she checks in from time to time," Rachel says with a voice that's light, but brittle. "Usually when I'm least expecting her. And always promising that things are always going to be different this time around."

His stomach sinks. "What happened?"

"Not very much, really. She came to town a few months after Dad died to tell Daddy how sorry she was and was appalled to find me in Lima instead of in New York as she'd imagined. So naturally, she made all kinds of plans to rescue me which of course came to nothing. Exactly what I was expecting."

"Shit...Rachel."

She sighs. "It's...not _all right_. But I've made my peace with it. With Shelby too. She even sent an absolutely hideous but _very expensive_ crystal vase for a house-warming present two years ago."

"You left it behind for Finn, huh?" he asks and it makes her giggle, like he intended.

"Rach?"

"Yes?"

"For what it's worth, I don't think you need rescuing."

"No?" she asks wryly. "What would you call it when someone turns up on your doorstep with twenty-seven dollars and a station wagon on its last legs?"

"You'd have figured something out," he says and when she makes a sound like a snort, he continues. "No, you would have. You got a job, you got an apartment, you moved across country. You would have made it work."

"Maybe," she says noncommittally and then firmly changing the subject, "How are things going at the studio? Has everything calmed down yet?"

He laughs. "Well, I made it home before midnight for the first time this week, so on the whole, I'd say yeah."

"And how's Jen?" she asks casually. Too casually?

"I haven't seen much of her," he says. "But we're having lunch down on the waterfront tomorrow." Someplace quiet where they can talk, but not too quiet, so she doesn't kill him, chop him up and throw the pieces to the sea lions at Fisherman's Wharf. Or at least not without a lot of trouble.

"Oh. Well, that's good."

Not much enthusiasm there. Is he reading too much into this? Should he...? No, probably not, not on the same day. Only now he's thinking about it. _Don't say it._ Just wait a little longer until things settle down and _then_ ask.

"What are you guys doing tomorrow night? I could bring over a movie and some take-out."

Classy, Puckerman, classy.

"We'd like that!"

And he's not imagining this, the happy lilt in her voice when she says it. It feels good to be the person who put it there.

They set a time and say good night (crap, it's almost 1:00 A.M.) and he tosses and turns for a while he thinks about Rachel, wondering if he'll dream about her again tonight. That line of thought makes it way less likely that he's going to be sleeping any time soon and his hand drifts low across his stomach and then down to where he's already half-hard. Gripping his length firmly, he pulls up and then slides back down, thumb brushing over the head, wiping away the fluid gathering there. And then he moves methodically at first, and then faster and it's all about the images fluttering behind his eyelids.

Her dark hair spread out on his pillowcase and her nipples pebbling under his fingers and his mouth as he slides between her legs. Sheathing himself in her an inch at a time, warm and wet and tight, and coaxing jagged gasps and moans out of her with each infinitesimal thrust. Her legs wrapped around him, urging him on with her heels, while her arms pull him closer, grip his biceps, scrape gently at the nape of his neck.

He grinds out her name as he spills into his hand, just imagining the sensation of her letting go all around him.

He's asleep about three minutes later. (And yes, he does dream about her.)

* * *

><p>He ends up going with, "I don't think this relationship is going to work out."<p>

It doesn't go over very well and the entire restaurant is aware of this from the moment she opens her mouth and starts laying into his morals, character and hygienic habits. (All he's going to say about that is she sure as hell wasn't complaining about him going commando when he had her up against the bathroom stall in that nightclub last year.) She calls him every name she can think of, which is fine because he probably deserves a few of them and also because she's got a long way to go before she reaches Senorita Loca's standards. Santana always had a way with words.

He's less amused when she starts in on Rachel. Some of it is just stupid. Seriously, _Gold-digger_? What the fuck? Does Jen think he's hiding some kind of trust fund underneath the mattress along with the porn? (Yeah, he might need to get rid of that.) And he shuts her down damn quick when she starts in on the single mom stuff. First of all, Rachel's a _fantastic_ mom. And second, maybe Jen should think about the fact that Miriam Puckerman didn't do too bad a job with the material she had at hand either. He turned out okay and Sarah's at the top of her class at the University of Chicago for fuck's sake.

Wait, he did tell Jen that Ma raised the two of them on her own, didn't he? Huh. Maybe not.

"Look," he finally says impatiently. "I get it, I'm a asshole, but you gotta know it wasn't going to happen anyway. Fuck, Jen, don't you want to be crazy about someone? Don't you want that person to be the first one you want to call when you get good news or something makes you laugh. Or listen when you've had a shitty day? Shouldn't you like every part of them, even the crap that makes you want to light yourself on fire sometimes?"

"And that's not me?" she asks, her voice wavering a little. "I can't believe you're saying this! We worked! You know we did!"

He shrugs. "We were fine for a while because we were decent in bed together and we both liked what was on the surface. Face it, we didn't really go any deeper than that."

"Of course we didn't," she almost shrieks. "You're so guarded you never gave me an opportunity to get _anywhere_ with you! We dated for three months before I learned your first name and that was by _accident_! But I notice _she_ uses it just fine! And since we're back to the subject of Rachel, let me assure you that you're an idiot if you think anything has changed for the two of you since high school." And with that parting shot, she throws her drink into his face and storms off.

He can almost hear Rachel clucking _'overdone'_ disapprovingly in his ear (his girl _knows_ how to make an exit), and it makes him grin.

"So does this mean you don't want to be friends?" he hollers to her retreating back as he mops his face with a napkin.

The rude gesture she sends his way is answer enough.

(Still, he does kind of wonder what she meant by that high-school garbage.)

His good mood lasts all the way back to his car. He yanks a clean t-shirt out of his workout bag and peels off the wet one, throwing a wink at the traffic cop who lets out a whistle. He got a couple more hours of work ahead of him, but his mind's already on tonight. Will Connor go for Thai food? He's gotta be up for it, right? This is Rachel's kid; he was probably eating tofu in the womb or something ridiculous like that. Still, he should call to check.

His phone is still on the charger and a small thrill runs through his system when Rachel's name comes up on the display. Two voice-mails from about three hours ago.

In the first, her voice is hesitant with that throbby quality she gets when she's upset about something.

"_Noah, it's me. Rachel. I had a strange interaction with...um...I was wondering if you had mentioned anything about...you know what, never mind. I think I understand. I'll call you later_."

Later turns out to be about ten minutes after the first call and this time her voice is bright and cheerful and false as hell.

"_Hi Noah, it's Rachel again. Sorry to be clogging up your voice-mail like this. I promise I'll be quick. Unfortunately Connor and I can't do dinner tonight, something came up. And all those inservice meetings for the start of the school year are coming up so I'm not sure when we'll be able to reschedule_."

What the hell is going on?

"_Um. I...I want to thank you again for all your help over the last few weeks_."

_Fuck that._ He doesn't want her thanks...he wants _her_.

"_Bye, Noah_."

Confused, but you know, _not_ freaked out or anything, he leaves her a short message asking her what's going on. She texts him a half-hour later with some vague excuse about writing lesson plans, which is total bullshit since he knows she's way ahead on that front. She also tells him to enjoy his 'fun weekend.' He shoots something back immediately telling her that he's got no idea what the hell she's talking about, but she doesn't reply to that or to the next three messages he sends.

Work basically sucks but at least he doesn't have anything scheduled so he can just shut his damn door and pretend he's not checking his phone every five minutes. He pretends to do shit for a few hours and then since he's not really in the mood to go sit in his empty apartment he heads to the gym and pushes himself through a grueling run followed by a set of sprints that Coach Beiste would probably think twice about. It's a relief to not worry about anything but where his next breath is coming from for a while.

By the time he's showered and out of there, it's dark and when he pulls into a parking spot halfway down the block from her place, he's not really surprised to find himself there. The edge of anger he's starting to feel now that the endorphins are wearing off does sort of shock him though. Shit, she's not _obligated_ to have dinner with him or anything and he sure as hell doesn't need her to be grateful to him. But whatever is going on with her isn't about that. She's upset about something and she's pushing him away because of it and that _does _piss him off.

Whatever. He'll take it out on her door buzzer. He stabs it twice vengefully and Rachel's cautious voice sounds over the intercom.

"Yes?"

"Rachel, it's me."

"Noah?"

She's surprised? This showing up unexpectedly late at night is practically their thing now.

"Yeah. You gonna let me in?"

"Noah it's late...Connor's already in bed..."

"I'm not here to see Connor, I'm here to see you. And I know it's late, but as I recall you showed up kinda late at my place a couple weeks ago."

Completely unfair, but there are advantages to being a dick sometimes.

She mumbles something he can't quite make out and after enough of a pause to make him start to sweat it, she buzzes him in.

He takes the stairs two at a time and when he gets to her floor she's leaning against the door-frame of her apartment. She's simply dressed faded blue jeans (did she even own jeans in high school?) and a white tee-shirt, her dark hair brushing against her shoulders. She looks _gorgeous _and with her arms crossed against her chest she also looks kind of mad.

It's fucking hot.

"Was there something you wanted?" she asks.

Heh. Too easy.

He steps past her into the apartment. "Thought I'd be neighborly and stop by. You know, borrow your sports section, steal your cable, ask for a cup of sugar, something like that."

"Is that an innuendo?" she asks, wrinkling her nose as she follows him in, closing the door behind them both.

Hell no, he's got way better stuff, but that suspicious little frown is cute. Shit. Focus.

"Or maybe I just showed up to try and figure out what has you so upset," he continues. He narrows his eyes, observing her closely. "Or not upset..._pissed off_. You're angry about something."

"How did you...!" she bursts out and then catching herself continues coolly, "And if I am?"

"Damned if I know," he says. "Can't fix it if I don't know what's wrong."

She's looking down now, worrying at the hem of her shirt and even if there was any part of him that was still angry, it would be gone now, when he reads the uncertainty in her face.

"After Jen's visit this morning...," she says.

"Wait. Hold on. Jen was here?" he interrupts.

Rachel nods. "Yes, she stopped by before she met you for lunch and frankly Noah, her visit wasn't all that pleasant. True, most of what she said was _ridiculous_, but a few of her barbs were quite hurtful. I understand that she's your girlfriend and I certainly don't want to put you in an awkward position or make you feel like you have to choose in any way..."  
><em><br>Rachel. He chooses Rachel._

"...But at one point during her and I'm sorry if this seems exaggerated but I can assure you it's accurate, her _rant_, I felt like I had to tell her that she was no longer welcome in my home." She moves to the refrigerator and pours herself a glass of filtered water and he watches her as she sips, scrubbing his hand along the back of his neck, letting out an irritated breath.

"Rach, I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should've dealt with this last weekend, I just..."

Now she interrupts him. "You don't need to apologize to me on her behalf, Noah. She's a grown woman who is responsible for her own actions. But I was...," she stops, swallows, and starts again. "I was _disappointed_ that you chose to share so many details about my life with her. I realize I never asked you to keep what I'd told you in confidence and maybe it was wrong of me to expect you to do so considering your relationship with Jen, but I was taken aback and yes, _angry _with you. And between that and Jen's obvious and unwarranted jealousy, not to mention the fact that she told me about the spa-weekend trip the two of you have planned, I thought that cancelling our dinner was for the best."

And he's trying, he's really trying to respond, but his head is reeling.

"I didn't say shit about your past," he says at last. "I mean I said we went to high school together and she knows that Finn did too, but that's it."

"Noah, she knew names, dates, the custody agreement, _everything_. She even knew about us."

"Us?" he repeats stupidly and when their eyes meet, it's like he can feel it all the way down to his toes.

"The slushies, our week together sophomore year and that time before Sectionals junior year. Other things, too," she says quietly.

"I didn't have anything to do with that, Rachel, I swear."

"Then how?" she asks, spreading her arms wide.

He closes his eyes briefly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "All right Jen's got this researcher, Sandi I think her name is, who works for her. She could have put Sandi on this. I mean the names and dates are part of public record. And as for the rest of it, I don't know, maybe this woman interviewed people. Hell a ten-minute conversation with Jacob Ben-Israel and she'd have enough inside information to write a book on you."

"But why in the world would she do that?" Rachel asks in frustration.

"You said it before. She's jealous of you. And I know it must have been shitty, but you don't have to worry about Jen any more, we're finished."

"You're...breaking up with her?" Rachel asks in disbelief. "Why? I thought you two...Jen said..."

"I already did break up with her, at lunch today. And what exactly did Jen say?"

"She said that you'd been planning something all week. She thought you were going to propose! Poor girl."

Typical Rachel. Poor Jen, his ass. They weren't anywhere near that point and she knew it. Still, he doesn't want to talk about Jen any more.

"The only thing I was planning this week was how to do it," he says carefully. "That shit is not as easy as it looks." He takes a step closer and meets her eyes. "And maybe I was thinking about tonight too."

"Our dinner?" she asks, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and dropping her gaze so all he can see is the sweep of lashes against her cheek.

"Yeah. I like spending time with you guys. But also remember last week? I said I wanted to talk to you about something."

"So talk," she commands breathlessly and when she looks up at him again her eyes are so dark, he almost groans.

Taking the water glass she's still holding, he places it gently on the counter-top behind her, effectively boxing her in. He's close. Close enough hear her sharp inhale as he does it, close enough to smell her shampoo, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin against his own, even though they're not touching.

Not yet anyway.

"Turns out I kind of suck at talking," he confesses, leaning towards her, giving her plenty of time to say something or to push him away if she wants to.

But she doesn't want to, instead she turns her face up to him and meets him halfway as their lips meet carefully, tentatively exploring, a series of tiny kisses traded back and forth. And then his hand comes up to cup her jaw and her hand moves to his forearm, squeezing. She's pressing closer and making that tiny noise that he remembers (fuck, does he remember) and she opens her mouth for him and he's just _lost_. The heated slide of tongues, the softness of her skin at the small of her back when he pulls her closer, the jolt he gets when she nips his bottom lip, it's intoxicating, like he could drown in her and not even care.

Fucking _finally_.

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN 1: Puck seemed to think it was worth waiting for. How about you? I'd love to know what you think! _**

**_A/N 2: Midterms and a huge stack of essays to correct are going to keep me busy the next few weeks, but I promise to update as soon as I can. I hope I left you on a good note to make up for the delay.  
><em>**


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: Sorry for the delay! I hope you enjoy this update. I had enormous fun writing it. :) Thank you all for your support and encouragement! **_

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>She's pressed up against the wall and not at all sure how she got there, only with Noah's mouth moving along her neck and, <em>oh god<em>, sucking on that tender spot behind her ear, she thinks it may be the only thing holding her up. Well, that and the heat of his body against hers, touching from knees to torso, solid and exciting all at the same time and really, it's been far too long since she's had the opportunity to explore that body. One of her hands traces the lines of his back, slips under his shirt and scrapes lightly with her fingernails. He inhales hard against her collarbone and she does it again, lower this time, dipping below the waistband of his jeans, wanting to pull that sound from him again, but instead he recaptures her mouth, more aggressively this time, groaning in approval when she mirrors him. His hands which had been buried in her hair brush down along her sides to grip her hips firmly and he's walking her backwards out of the kitchen.

Just for a moment the tiny part of her that isn't consumed by all this is worried because _bedroom_? Isn't it all moving a little too fast? Instead he maneuvers them both into the living room, almost smacking her head on the door-frame as they cross the threshold.

"Sorry," he mutters, tearing his mouth away from hers for a second and she'd pout, only he's sinking onto the sofa and pulling her down next to him and she really needs to keep all her energy for the essentials, such as finding his lips again immediately.

They kiss...no, they _make out_ for hours like a couple of teenagers. And despite the somewhat disappointing fact that his hands stay above her clothes at all times, it feels _amazing_. Noah always had the gift of being completely in the moment, like every ounce of his attention was on them and what they were doing. It's still intoxicating.

Eventually they pull back and she stares at his swollen lips, wondering if she looks as _abandoned_ as he does. Reaching out, she rubs her thumb absently against a tiny mark that she must have given him just where his neck and shoulder meet and he catches her hand and kisses it briefly before linking his fingers with hers.

"I should go," he says. "It's late and unless things have changed in the last week, you're pretty much guaranteed to have an early start tomorrow. Besides, I completely want to punch myself for saying this, but we should probably take things slow."

She bites her bottom lip at this and briefly considers her bedroom again and there's definitely part of her that wants to drag him in there and tell him that taking it slow is completely overrated. (Except in the right context, naturally. Such as hours and hours of the kind of mind-blowing sexual experience that she's absolutely certain he'd be ready, willing and able to provide.) On the other hand part of her knows he's right. This is still so _new_ for both of them. (Sort of.)

"I suppose so," she says with a last regretful glance at her bedroom door. He nods and stands and there's some uncomfortable looking shifting going on as he re-adjusts his jeans. She can't help giggling. (And admittedly, there's a fair amount of squirming because what Noah's carrying? Let's just say it looks _impressive_.)

"Really?" he asks, raising one eyebrow and grinning, "Because this is all you. There I was, just minding my own business, when out of nowhere...,"

She can feel heat rising to her cheeks, but she's still laughing as she rises up next to him, smacks him lightly on the arm and then tucks herself underneath it. "Oh is that how it happened? That's funny, because I could have sworn that _you_ kissed _me_."

"Details. And speaking of details, what about our date? You still gonna bail on me?" he asks as they make their way to the apartment door.

_A date? He was thinking of it as a date?_ There's the tiniest hint of strain buried beneath his casual tone. He's_ nervous_, she realizes and of course she doesn't want him to be uncomfortable, but just that tiny hint that he's interested in more than the obvious is reassuring.

"What about lunch tomorrow?" she asks. "You don't have to work on Saturdays, do you? We could go to the park. I know! We could have a picnic! I'll pack some fruit and sandwiches and we can sit by the fountain." A sudden thought strikes her. "About that...Noah, you do realize that Connor and I are a package deal right now, right? I haven't been in San Francisco long enough to find a babysitter and I won't leave him with someone I don't trust, so I'm not sure if you'd actually consider that a proper date."

"Are you kidding?" he scoffs. "I _need_ Connor around. How else am I going to get all the inside information like what your favorite flowers are or where the best place to shop for bunny slippers is? No, he's totally essential, so I'm sorry, you're just going to have to try to keep your hands to yourself."

She lifts one brow. "Oh really? Completely to myself?" she asks.

"Well, I don't know," he teases. "Maybe we can sneak around and hold hands when his back is turned."

She strongly suspects that if any sneaking around is done, they'll be doing quite a bit more than just holding hands. But is sneaking around the right word? Clearly, she's going to have to tell Connor something, but what? Would Noah even want to spend the night if he had the opportunity? What about her daddy? She doesn't need his approval exactly, but his support would be nice. What's he going to think? And then there's Finn. She's mentioned Noah's name one or twice in conversation (better to do it before Connor does) and he hadn't had much to say. What could he say, after all?

Noah's arm tightens around her and he's looking at her steadily.

"We'll figure it out," she says. After all, she doesn't need to have _all_ the answers this minute any more than she had to have them back in high school, as much as she didn't understand that at the time. She just needs enough to go on and the rest will come.

"Yeah?" he asks.

She turns into him, reaching up and winding her hand along his shoulder blade to the back of his head, enjoying the feeling of his short hair prickling her palm. He leans into it, his eyes half-closing and her heart skips a beat.

"Yes," she says firmly as she pulls him down for a kiss.

* * *

><p>Disaster is a strong word and possibly a tiny bit of an over-exaggeration, but it does spring to mind more than once during their first official date since their sophomore year fling. Or ever, depending on whether your definition of a date encompasses spending the hour between her modern and tap dance class exploring each other's tonsils with their tongues in the parking lot of the 7-11. (He did buy her a slushie after, so there's that.)<p>

First, there's Connor. She adores her son, but there's no denying that he has a stubborn streak a mile wide. (Daddy laughed himself sick the first time she mentioned that little fact to him.) She's in a bit of a rush trying to get ready before Noah arrives and yes, it was perhaps overly ambitious to think that in the allotted time she could shower, curl her hair, do her make-up _and_iron the yellow sundress that shows off her legs. (After all, slow doesn't mean stationary.)

Connor's on-the-floor, deperately-sobbing, full-on tantrum while she's trying to get him dressed just serves to put all of that into the realm of impossibility.

Listen, she chooses her battles carefully and fighting with a three-year-old over what to wear? Not high on her list. If Connor wants to wear his green dinosaur shirt with his red corduroy pants, she grins and bears it, even if he does look like a demented Christmas elf. But when both of those items are in the laundry basket covered with finger-paints and stain remover, sometimes he needs to make another choice.

Which she explains. At _length_.

And in fact, she's still explaining it when Noah arrives to find her in a ratty bathrobe with her wet hair dripping down the back of her neck. Just once she'd like to look like a put-together, polished _woman _when he shows up instead of looking like she's been dragged through a hedge backwards.

Still, he smiles warmly and squeezes her hand when he sees her and things look like they're going to pick up for a while. Connor consents to wear the blue airplane shirt when Noah says it's cool and the two of them make the sandwiches while she finishes getting ready. _Vegan_ sandwiches no less, even if peanut butter and sliced banana strikes her as an odd combination.

Noah actually whistles when he sees her in her dress and Connor hugs her (happily with freshly washed hands, Noah is clearly a fast learner) and tells her she looks like a princess. She's beaming when she walks down the stairs with these two handsome men on her arms. And she's still smiling when she runs back up the stairs to fetch Bunny who apparently wants to go on the picnic too. Her smile becomes a little strained when she makes a second trip to get the sunblock she'd forgotten to pack and even more so when she makes a third trip back to the apartment for a washcloth to wipe the sunblock off of Bunny. ("Mommy! Bunny needs to be _safe_!")

They finally arrive at the park and their first picnic spot is still damp from the morning dew, the next one is immediately overrun by a group of hackey-sack playing senior citizens and at the third a scruffy looking squirrel is _staring _at them. ("Rach, c'mon! Admit it, that little rodent is creepy!")

Her favorite sandals break a strap, Connor's hat mysteriously ends up in a tree and needs to be retrieved and the girl at the ice-cream cart keeps throwing Noah flirtatious looks from across the bike path. Plus the sandwiches taste strange. ("_Another one?_ Um...No. Thank you boys, they were...delicious, but I'm stuffed.")

To top it all off, Connor falls into the fountain (directly on his bottom in about three inches of water, but he lets out a _very _convincing wail) and when Noah pitches over the lip of it as he goes to rescue him, he not only gets completely soaked but also manages to scrape the ever-living daylights out of his shin. By the time they limp home, wet and bedraggled and in Noah's case, bleeding a little, Connor is more than ready to get into some dry clothes and be fussed over for a bit before being tucked into his bed for nap.

Noah doesn't seem to mind it all that much either. The fussing that is, not the being tucked into bed part. (Unfortunately.)

He's sitting on her vanity while she leans down to dabs hydrogen peroxide on his leg. It bubbles when it comes into contact with his cut and he lets out a hiss.

"Sorry," she says apologetically, "But that water is probably filthy. Better safe than sorry."

"S'okay. Blow on it?" he asks hopefully.

She gives him a look, but blows lightly on his cut and then pulls out a selection of colorful band-aids. "All I have are these ones I bought for Connor."

"That's cool," he laughs. "I'm down with Buzz Lightyear."

She looks down at his leg, carefully applying the bandage, a little bit afraid to meet his eyes. "This was kind of a disaster of a date, wasn't it?" she asks.

"I've had better," he deadpans and her eyes whip up to meet his. _Hmmph._ He's _supposed _to be comforting her. "No, no. I'm kidding," he continues, drawing her up and pulling her between his legs, "Sure, it was a hot mess, but that's kind of us all over."

"You think we're a _mess_?" she frowns, trying to pull away.

He links his fingers behind her back and tugs her back gently. "Hell, no. I think we get better with practice. And speaking of practice..." His hands move to cup her ass while his mouth slants over hers and she arches into him automatically, ignoring his damp clothes as she enthusiastically reciprocates.

It is an absolutely _terrible _line though and she's almost positive she'll mention it...later.

* * *

><p>They practice quite a bit over the next few weeks, both in reference to the dating and the kissing, though not with equal success.<p>

He takes them to a Giants' game and not surprisingly after receiving a large container of popcorn, a foam finger and and a high five from the mascot, Connor adores it. Somewhat more unexpectedly, so does she. She may not be following much of the game but those uniforms are deliciously snug. They take a trip out into the harbor on a ferry boat and even though both of them keep a firm grip on Connor since the water here is considerably deeper than three inches, the views are _amazing_. They even have an evening to themselves to celebrate the completion her first week at school when Christine from apartment 2D suggests they trade off baby-sitting.

Basically, spending time with Noah is wonderful. Kissing Noah Puckerman regularly is more problematic.

It's not that it's unpleasant _at all_. Quite the contrary, the things that man could probably do with his mouth should be illegal and her biggest problem is that he's not doing nearly enough of them.

All right, fine. Things haven't progressed in quite the way she'd expected (hoped).

It's not like he's keeping six inches between them at all times or something ridiculous like that but on their evenings together when Connor's asleep and they start something, he's strangely reluctant to finish it, like there's some kind of invisible line he doesn't want to cross. And lordy, does she need that line to be crossed. To put it baldly, she's frustrated and that little toy she has carefully hidden away in her nightstand isn't doing the job any more, not when she knows that his mouth and his fingers and _mmmmm_, his _cock_(even thinking the word makes her shivery) would make it so much better.

And she's tried to be encouraging, really she has. She's let her skirt ride up, loosened one extra button on her blouse, allowed her hands to drift along his the delicious lines of his abs and down to his muscular thighs almost to where he should most want them to be. And while he seems to appreciate it, letting out a appreciative groan, his hands tightening on her and his eyes raking over her like she's naked, he doesn't offer to take things any further. And she's...she's been with one person in her _entire life_ and she's never _had_to seduce someone and she doesn't want to make a fool of herself. (A tiny part of her is starting to wonder how interested Noah actually is. Isn't it supposed to be easier than this?)

She wishes she had someone to talk to about it but friends are a little thin on the ground just now. There's Noah obviously, but since this is about him, that doesn't work. Tina emails her a few times a year but most of her correspondence seems to center around the pictures of grammatically-inept cats in awkward positions that she uses as part of her performance-art. (Really. Apparently it's meant to be terrifyingly post-modern.) And while she's definitely made a few friends in San Francisco, especially Christine and her husband Scott and a few of her colleagues from school, she's reasonably sure that confessing how much she wants her boyfriend to fuck her would probably put a crimp in her nascent friendships.

That leaves...well, no one, actually. She'll just have to figure this out on her own.

* * *

><p>"Maybe you should just explain that you want to have sex with him. Honestly sweetheart, men aren't always that bright. You need to <em>tell<em>them these things."

Or she could blurt it out to her father the next time he calls. One or the other.

"Daddy, forget I said anything. This is completely embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as the time you and Dad acted out the menstrual cycle on our basement stage, but very, very close."

"That reminds me! I was cleaning out the downstairs closet and I found one of the papier-mache fallopian tubes. I wonder where the other one got to?"

"Have you tried the crawl-space over the garage?" She should not be encouraging him, but _anything_ to change the subject. Only, oh god, she hopes he isn't scrap-booking again.

"I'll have to do that. But let's get back to your situation. I admit that I did have a bit of a flashback back to your high-school years when you first mentioned his name. Face it, the Puckerman boy did seem to spend most of his time looking at you as if he wanted to take all your clothes off and lay you down on the nearest horizontal surface."

"Daddy! He did not!" she protests, her cheeks burning. As is the rest of her.

"Darling, I was a teenage boy once, so you'll have to take my word for it. My point it this: you're my daughter and from the moment I knew you existed, I have _always_ loved you. But I don't think I've ever been prouder of you than I have been during the last year. It takes an enormous amount of courage to face your life, realize that things haven't worked out the way you had hoped and then _do _something about it. You've done exactly that with grace and determination. I just want you to believe that it's all right for you to want things for yourself again. And if Noah Puckerman is what you want, you should go get him."

"But what if he says no?" she asks in a tiny voice. "What if I've been just been misreading things?"

"I sincerely doubt that's the case. But what if it is? Your Daddy used to say that there's no life without risk. And don't forget, he always liked Noah a lot."

She remembers. Dad never met a crazy scheme he didn't like and this year, all of it, the job, the move, it's almost like she can feel him over her shoulder, cheering her on, giving her courage. He would have _loved_ this.

"You know what?" she says, "You're right. My neighbor owes me an evening of babysitting. I'm going to march right over to Noah's apartment and tell him how I feel! I'm going to put myself out there and go for what I want. Thank you so much for the pep-talk!"

"You're welcome sweetie. Just do me one tiny favor?"

"Anything."

"When you call me to let me know how things went, try to avoid going into too much detail. You're still my little girl, you know."

"It's a deal," she grins.

* * *

><p>"Noah, do you want to have sex with me?"<p>

Hmmm. He's staring at her with his mouth open like a hooked fish. Maybe she should have tried opening with something else, something a little more subtle. Or possibly she should have confronted him in a slightly more private location than the entry-way to his apartment building and on that note, she smiles at sweet, old Mr. Santorini who is waving as he collects his mail. Oh well, she's ninety percent certain that Noah said he was mostly deaf, but she's being dragged to the elevator anyway and Noah's hitting the up button with considerable frustration. When it doesn't arrive in the next thirty seconds, he mutters a curse word and pulls her into the stairwell.

He surprises her by diving for her lips and kissing her hard and quick and just as her eyes flutter closed and her hands move to his shirt to tug him closer, he pulls back and starts pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Look Rach, I gotta tell you I'm kind of having a hard time processing what just happened. You know, long day, Jared being more obscure than usual, senior producer on my ass about the new album, so I'm just thinking it's possible I might be hallucinating here. Do you think that this once we could back up the conversation a little?"

She eyes him cautiously. "If you'd like. Hello, Noah. How was your day?"

"Yeah," he says, still pacing. "Busy and shit. How was yours? Where's Connor?"

"Connor is spending the evening with Christine and Scott. When I left, he and Gracie were setting up every stuffed animal in the house as some kind of audience. I just hope he manages to keep his hands off her hair this time. I swear, he's obsessed with her curls. And school was fine although I'm not sure if my third period class will ever be able to keep a beat and if Avery Powell thinks that her range is going to develop itself, she's got another thing coming. Oh, and Daddy called. He...um...says hello. Noah, do you think you could stop pacing? You're making me dizzy."

He grinds to a halt in front of her. "Fuck. Sorry. I'm just...can we go back to that other thing?"

"Noah, I..." She pauses and wets her upper lip nervously. For all her brave talk about putting herself out there and going for what she wants, her throat is dry and her stomach is clenching and she has to force herself to speak. "On the way over here, I started thinking that maybe this would be easier if I brought wine and rose-petals and soft music. Or if I was different, bolder, you know, all dressed up in high heels and black lingerie under a belted trench-coat."

"Rach," he says, his voice warm in her ear and she inhales because she didn't realize he was that close.

She can't look at him, but his fingers circle her wrist and it's enough to spur her into speech again. "But then I thought that I...I didn't need all that. That...that it could just be us and that would be enough." God, more than enough, the two of them, skin on skin, exploring, him hard where she's soft, the spark that lights a slow burn. Her knees are weak just thinking about it. "And I'm not sure why we haven't been. But I thought I'd put it out there, just in case."

When she gathers the courage to look up, he's leaning on the wall next to her, head tilted back against the rough surface. "If you're asking if I want you, of course I do," he says, his voice rough. "I want you _all_ the fucking time. I fucking _dream_ about you."

"But?" she asks dully. There always seems to be something.

"But nothing. I just didn't want to screw this up," he says quietly. "I _don't_ want to screw it up."

Her heart is beating so hard that she can feel it as a pulsing rush in her ears. "So don't," she whispers.

His hand tightens around her wrist but his voice is soft and so, so careful. "Do you want to come upstairs with me?" he asks.

She nods because she can't find her words and then pipes out a squeaky 'yes' in case he missed it and and the two of them head up the stairs together, pausing to kiss on every landing, with her a step above so they're evenly matched. On the fourth floor they get carried away and he presses her up against the railing but she barely notices because one hand has insinuated itself under her blouse and his thumb is brushing the the lace at the underside of her breast. He dips into the cup of her bra and ghosts over her nipple and she can feel his smile against her neck and then his sharp inhale when she moves her hips to grind against his erection. She's beginning to wonder if they're even going to make it to his apartment.

Just wonder though, not particularly care.

A door bangs open and the echoing sound of voices fill the stairwell. It's from one flight down, thank goodness, but they both freeze-_literally freeze_, with his hand still cupping her breast and her leg nudging up against his cock-until the noise dies away completely. And then they burst out laughing, clinging on to each other for dear life. By the time they catch their breath she has to push forward with a grimace because it's just now starting to sink in that the rail is completely uncomfortable against her back.

His hand moves to rub her lower back gently and the little mewl she makes is only half because he's making it all better. The rest is because as sensitized as she is, him touching her skin in any context whatsoever is incredibly hot and she has to press her thighs together to assuage the ache.

He notices.

"I've got to get you upstairs and take your clothes off," he growls and the heated look is very definitely back.

"And lay me down on the nearest horizontal surface?" she asks. What? She's curious to find out if Daddy was right.

His eyebrow quirks. "Well, I was thinking of the bed first, but depending on how much time you have, we could try out a few more spots." His mouth travels down to her ear, nibbling on the lobe and then whispering, "You could make a list. That would be hot as fuck."

Would it be unladylike to run the last flight of stairs? Does she care?

When they finally, _finally_ lock the door behind them, it's not at all what she expected based on the fact that she was about ninety seconds from _begging_ him to finger her in the stairwell. They leave a trail of clothes from the door to the bedroom, true, but none of it is rushed or desperate. Instead, he's careful with buttons and zippers, slow to slide each piece of fabric from her body to the floor, revealing skin inch by inch and licking and sucking and caressing each new spot as he discovers it.

He kisses the inside of her wrist in the living room, strokes a trail between her breasts with a touch so light she can barely feel it it the hall. She's shakier, unbuttons his shirt with trembling fingers and then pushes it off his shoulders as he kneels in front of her up against his bedroom door.

Looking up at her with wide, dark eyes, he murmurs, "You okay?" and she nods and throws her head back when she feels a puff of hot breath through her soaked panties. But he doesn't touch her there, instead he touches her legs, rubs the hollow behind her ankle, kisses the curve of her knee, sucks hard the front of her thigh, just where the hem of her dress would fall. He talks to her too, tells her how beautiful she is, every inch, and how he's going to take his time and _show_ her.

By the time he gets to the her center, she's almost out of her mind and as he eases he underwear down, her eyes are squeezed shut and hands are fisted at her side. He gently nudges her to widen her stance and then moves closer, licking a quick stripe up her center and circling her bundle of nerves, before returning, dipping into her entrance. She's bucking towards him, desperate for more pressure and he gives it to her with the flat of his tongue against her clit and working one finger just an inch, then two into her pussy and then her eyes fly open in shock because suddenly it all stops.

"You like this?" he asks, his voice almost unrecognizable and she looks at him like he's crazy, because really? This is _so goddamned good_ and she must have said so because he's grinning and diving back in, giving it all to her faster and a little harder, two fingers now, deeper, curling and stretching, and his tongue fluttering back and forth, sucking her clit into his mouth, letting his teeth scrape against it delicately. She's coiling and tightening, heat spreading to her fingers and toes and one of her hands is firm against the the back his head, guiding his movements and the other is wrapped up in his larger one, their fingers intertwined. She only has a moment to feel surprised about that when it all crescendos and she's climaxing, gasping out his name.

She's still coming down when he swoops her up and carries her to bed which is ridiculously cliched, or at least it would be if her legs still worked, so she'll let him get away with it this once. She pulls him closer, her hands making quick work of his jeans and boxers, pushing them carefully down his hips and allowing his cock to spring free. He said that she's beautiful? He is too, although she doubts he'd appreciate hearing it.

But maybe...this?

She leans over and takes him into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the ridge and then sinking a little deeper, applying a light suction while backing off. His hands are everywhere, combing through her hair, gripping her shoulders, brushing against her cheek like he doesn't know what to do with them and when she sinks down further, lets him brush up against the back of her throat, he starts cursing. It's _exciting_ to make him loose control like this and she can feel the ache between her legs build, feel herself getting wet again, but then he's pulling back, gasping.

"Noah!" She pouts a little and he lets out a choked laugh and then kisses her so sweetly that it feels like her heart is going to burst.

"I want to be inside you," he whispers in her ear, like it's some kind of secret.

She wants that too.

"Do you have protection?" she asks. (Of course she came prepared, but her handbag is by the door and that is _clearly_ much too far away.) He reaches into his bedside drawer and places a condom into her hand and they both watch as she tears open the packet and carefully smooths it onto his length. She pumps him once or twice, experimentally twisting her wrist lightly, watching his reactions closely until he covers her hand, stilling the movement.

"Not gonna last if you keep doing that," he admits and yes, she's smirking at that. "Here," he says, rolling on to his back and pulling her astride him. "Like this. It'll be better for this time."

He's right. It's been a while, more than a year, a fact they've never discussed but she's sure he's aware of and he's _not_ small. Besides, being on top, controlling the speed, the depth, the angle? That has its own appeal to her. If she had to guess, she'd say he's aware of that too.

She smiles as hovers above him and then lightly rubs against him, undulating her hips in a wide circle, letting her nipples drag against his chest. "Like this?" she purrs.

"Tease," he mumbles, propping himself up on his elbows so he can watch as she nudges the head of his cock with her pussy, making sure that he hits her clit just right.

"Touch me," she demands and he smiles wolfishly and takes one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling lightly and then blowing on it while he rolls the other gently between his fingertips.

"More?" he asks and when she moans affirmatively, he latches on, sucking hard and letting it pop out of his mouth before switching to the other and the frisson goes straight to her center.

She can't go without him another second. Trembling, her thighs burning from the effort of going slow, she guides herself on top of him and sinks down, hissing when she comes to rest with him buried inside her. And she's _so_ full and it's _so_ good, but even better when she starts to move, slowly at first, canting forward to grind against his pelvis, watching him swallow hard as he fists the bedspread. She builds a steady rhythm as she kisses his chest, working her way up to his neck, his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip and then catching it between her teeth, but it's not quite enough to get her where she needs to be.

"Noah," she murmurs as she grabs his hands and places them on her hips and he surges beneath her, gripping her tightly, increasing the pace until she's flying and there's nothing else but her heartbeat and heat and him.

"Baby, so good," he croons, throwing his head back and she ripples, tightens around him and almost stutters to a stop as he slams her hips down, once, twice, a third time, pulsing into the condom just as those stars she was always chasing are in her grasp for a single perfect moment.

Oh god, she's not going to want to give this up. Any of it. Not ever.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: So yes, the entire chapter was pretty much just smut and fluff. Honestly, don't you think the two of them deserved it? Thanks again for reading and I'd love to know what you think!**_


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: Again, thank you so much for your interest in this story**_

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>He gets it, he knows what she's talking about when she's standing in the stairwell looking up at him with those wide eyes and a tiny catch in her voice. Sure, he's been telling himself for weeks that he has to go slow with her but there's a fine line between doing the mature, responsible thing and just being plain shit-scared. Because, you know, she's <em>Rachel<em> and he's wanted her since he was fifteen years old, hell, longer than that if that stupid bat mitzvah party meant anything. Even thought he had her once or twice until she walked away or he did.

But right now, with her naked and curled up on his chest and his palm sliding up and down her back with long, lazy strokes, he's just calling himself a moron. Missing a week, even two, of this is practically criminal.

So what about missing nine years?

_Fuck._

It sort of makes sense that he's thinking about it again, even though he did his best not to for a long-ass time. '_What if_' has never been kind to him.

(But what if? What if she had gone with him that night?)

* * *

><p><em>It's none of his business. Maybe he's gotten mixed up with it (with her) more than he should've over the years, but he's <em>finally_ figured that out at least. _

_Not the golden couple and the on-again, off-again crap that they've been doing for the last three fucking years. So what if they're on a break this week; Finn is one soppy ballad from being back in and everyone knows it. Engagement, his ass. More like they've somehow got it stuck in their heads that there's only one life-preserver between the two of them and they're on the _goddamned_ Titanic. _

_Not NYADA and the absolute stupidity of applying to just one damn school. Shit, he didn't apply anywhere and even he knows better than that. He supposes that's what you get when the guidance counselor is only interested in sanitizing shit and writing up new and interesting ways to communicate the dangers of jock itch, but where the hell were her daddies during this whole thing? You'd think they'd have some kind of musical number worked up for this. _

_And forget about this gap-year bullshit she's spouting to the Gleeks, Schue, anyone who will listen. Not that they are, no one's asking. They're all so full of their own plans that they can't even tell that her smile is about as fake as Ben-Israel's little black book. _

_You know what, maybe he will end up dead or in jail, but if he does, he can guarantee that it won't be in this hell hole. He just needs to get the hell out of Lima and get to work on forgetting all the shit that he can't change: his dad, Shelby and Beth, the fuck-up he made of his friendship with Finn. _

_Rachel. _

_That's when the little voice in the back of his head kicks in: _so if it's none of your business, genius, what the _hell_ are you doing knocking on her door?

_Shut up. Just because. _

_She answers the door and he'd say that it's a lucky break if he hadn't happened to see her fathers leave. (After sitting in his parked truck halfway down the block for forty-five minutes, but who's keeping track.) _

_"Noah," she says, all surprised, running a hand through her hair to smooth it down and tugging at the tee-shirt that's not really covering her ass in those yoga-pants. "What are you doing here? I assumed you'd be at Santana's party by now." _

_"Not in the mood," he says shortly. He's not all that interested in another night spent with Hudson and the other Nude Erections, not to mention most of the rest of the senior class, all celebrating graduation by getting fucked up in San's Lima Heights McMansion while her parents are in Barcelona for their anniversary. (Adjacent, his ass. The only thing Santana's place is adjacent to is the West Lima Golf and Country club.) _

_"Would you, um, like to come in?" she asks, her tongue darting out to wet her upper lip and he wonders, not for the first time, if she knows how fucking sexy that is. She can't, right? But seriously, how could you miss it? He's still staring at her mouth when she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. "Noah? I can offer you refreshments if you'd like." _

_"No thanks," he says. Her face falls a little and he feels bad but inside probably means sitting at her kitchen table with cookies and milk for all he knows and then she'll probably pull out the board games. (No lie, the Berries have got a closet full of them and do family game night every week which he knows about because Finn is always pissing and moaning about losing at Scrabble.) And then chances are he'll never get it said. "Can you come out and talk for a few minutes?" _

_She looks at him closely and whatever she finds in his face seems to satisfy her. "All right, just give me a moment." She slips back into the house and is back again in a minute with a light sweater because now that the sun's been set for a couple of hours, it's starting to cool down and she hates being chilly. (She was always all over him when they were dating; claimed she liked the body heat.) _

_"Do you want to sit down?" she asks, gesturing to the porch swing._

_"Nah, I'm okay here, " he says, leaning against the railing. "You go ahead." Instead, to his surprise, she perches on the rail next to him, close enough to his so that her sweater brushes against his arm in a few places and he can smell her green-apple shampoo and fuck, he's sort of forgotten what he was going to say. _

_"So, what did you want to talk about?" she asks at last, her feet swinging back and forth. _

_Instead of responding, he pulls the slightly crumpled paper out of his back pocket and hands it to her. _

_She takes it, smoothing it out and tilting it towards the porch light so she can read it. "It's a ticket. An open-ended bus ticket to Los Angeles, passenger name, Noah Puckerman. You're going to Los Angeles? When were you...? I'm just...You're leaving?" _

_Something about the shock all over his face rubs him the wrong way and he knows he sounds bitter the second he opens his mouth, but he can't seem to stop himself. _

_"Yeah I am, Rachel. I'm getting the hell out of here. Surprised? You thought I was just going to sit around Lima and clean pools for people who are too rich to do their own damn dirty work? Or maybe sit around getting stoned on the loading dock at Sheets 'n Things for the rest of my life?" _

_"No! I didn't!" she replies indignantly, "I didn't think any such thing!" She balls her hands up into fists and hops off the rail, facing him squarely and he's actually hard-pressed not to flinch back. "I absolutely hate it when you talk like this! How can you possibly expect anyone to have faith in your talents and abilities when you're always the first to denigrate them! If I was surprised, it was because you haven't breathed one single word of this to me. Or...or to anyone!" _

_Fuck. He didn't realize. "I just thought...God, I seriously need to get out of this town," he says awkwardly. "Anyway, sorry."  
><em>

_She unclenches her hands and takes a tiny step closer. "Noah, I understand what this place can do to your self-confidence," she says softly, reaching out to smooth an non-existent wrinkle on his shirt and then gripping the fabric. "You just need to believe in yourself." _

_Maybe it's her hand fisted in his shirt or maybe it's just because she's telling him exactly what he's been wanting to say to her for the last three months, or even longer, but suddenly it's all spilling out at once, the words almost tripping over each other as he tries to force them out, like if he says it fast enough, she'll have to agree._

_"Come with me. Come to California. I know it's not exactly what you wanted but there's all kinds of shit available there for someone with talent. There's a music scene and television, movies. And I don't know, palm trees, sunshine, the beach, all that crappy vegan shit you like, _everything_. Shit, Rach, imagine looking out your window and seeing the ocean." _

_"I...but New York...," she says, looking up at him with a dazed expression and is it crazy that his heart leaps up in his chest when that's the first thing that comes into her head instead of Finn? _

_He takes a deep breath and lets go of California almost without regret. "Okay, New York then. I'll...I'll cash in my ticket and we can go to New York. I've got almost nine thousand dollars saved up, just about every penny I've made in the last two years. We'll find a two-bedroom, maybe in Brooklyn or something, no strings attached, I promise. And you can wait tables until you get your big break and I'll buy a bike and be one of those insane messenger guys and we can sing at open-mics and hell, in the subway if they'll let us. We could rock the hell out of that shit!" _

_"I can't go to New York with you like that! I haven't even considered...there's so many things that could go wrong! This isn't how I'm supposed to do it!" she almost wails and there's something that looks a hell of a lot like panic in her eyes. _

_"Rach, I know you're scared," he says, moving to grip her wrist, his thumb rubbing circles on the soft skin of the underside. _

_"I'm not...," she frowns, but he cuts her off. _

_"You are and I get it. Look, I know NYADA was a wash-out and Kurt and Finn bailed on New York and you don't think you can do it on your own. But fuck, just listen to your own advice for a minute. You've got this." _

_"It's just a year," she says, her eyes pleading. "I'm going to re-apply." _

_"You say that now, but Rach, things happen. You gotta...you gotta take a chance sometimes. You know as well as I do what it's going to be like if you stay here. The people around here, hell, they might have forgiven you for going off and being amazing, they might have bragged about you, even made up lies about what good friends they were with you back when, but this? You stay here and they're never going to let you forget it even for a minute." _

_It's harsh and it kind of make him feel like shit to say it, especially when she flinches, but she doesn't deny it, only closes her eyes for a moment. _

_"I'd have Finn," she says in a voice so low he has to strain to hear if, even if she's only a foot away. _

_He groans. "Tell me this isn't about that. Tell me you're not staying here to be someone's girlfriend." _

_She shakes her head. "You know I'm not. I'm just...look, a gap year isn't the end of the world, you know." _

_She's lying. "Don't!" he snaps and then catching himself with an effort adds, "not with me, okay?" _

_She bites her lip and his grip involuntarily tightens on her wrist, but she's not trying to pull away. "Why are you doing this?" she asks. _

_Why is he doing this? It's not even like he really thinks it's going to work, it's more like unfinished business: he made a promise to God to help her out and it may not look like it but he takes that kind of thing seriously. And then there's the other piece. The part of him that wonders if this ache, this choked-up feeling, the way he's always thinking about her, means what he thinks it means. _

_(Shit, he knows it does. He's been half in love with her for years.) _

_"Noah?" _

_She's so damn close, standing almost between his legs, one hand resting lightly on his hip as she looks up at him. _

_She wants to know? Fuck it. _

_His mouth is on hers before he ever realizes it and the immediate spark isn't even a surprise any more, not when every time they do this is so damn good. She bites back a whimper when he runs his tongue along the seam of her lip and the sound makes him dizzy, mostly because ninety percent of the blood in his body is rushing directly down to his dick but also because she's kissing him back just as wildly, opening her mouth for him and sliding her tongue alongside his. He tugs her closer by her shirt and then buries his hands in her hair and she tilts her head just so and damn, he's never going to get enough of this. _

_A car turns onto her street, momentarily catching the two of them in the sweep of headlights, outlined starkly against the house and she tears herself away, gasping and bringing her fingertips up to her kiss-swollen lips. He fights back the contrary urges to follow her, pull her back into his arms and do the whole thing over again or else just cut his losses and take the hell off without another word. _

_"Noah, I can't...," she starts and that's it, his answer, and he doesn't wait to find out what she means, whether it's him or the kiss or getting out of Lima. He starts down her porch steps, hands dug deep into his pockets, turning with a sigh when he hits the bottom step. One more try, then he's done, no looking back, no second-guessing himself. _

_"Rach, I'm out of here on Tuesday. The bus leaves at 6:00 A.M. and I'm going to be on it. But everything I said to you, California, New York, whatever, I fucking meant every word of it. So, if you change your mind, you've got my number." _

* * *

><p><em>He waits around the bus terminal until the last possible minute on Tuesday morning, right up until the driver climbs in behind the wheel and says kindly, 'time to go, son.' When they cross over the Lima city line, his eyes are closed, but he can still see her face. <em>

_Weirdly though, at the same time he's thinking about Schue with his stupid assignments of the week and his endless whiteboard shtick. The teacher probably would tell him that at least he can leave without any regrets. That even if he did get the ever-loving crap kicked out of him, he _tried_, he put himself out there and that's the important thing. _

_Fine, point taken, but right now he just feels like shit. _

* * *

><p>She rolls on her side and props herself up on one elbow, letting the sheet fall away and he loves that she doesn't feel the need to cover up in front of him almost as much as he likes looking at (and touching and kissing) her. Honestly, this pretty much makes up most of his bucket list.<p>

"What are you thinking about?" she asks.

"You," he answers and then adds, "Like all the time. Always have."

Her cheeks turn pink and she smiles this absolutely blinding smile, sliding her hand along his bicep. "Always?" she asks and then maybe because she's always had the trick of reading him (it used to drive him crazy when he was trying to slack off in Glee) she continues, "Do you ever think about it? Graduation night, I mean?"

See? Totally psychic.

"Sometimes," he admits.

"I thought about you, you know," she says in a low voice, and her hair falls down into her face so he can't see her eyes. "That night and oh, lots of times through the years, how you were, whether you were doing well. I asked Aviva about you more than once. And I wondered how my life would have been different if I had gone with you. But...," her voice falls away and she traces smalls patterns with her fingertip on his skin.

"But what?" he prompts, pulling her closer because he can.

"I can't regret it, not entirely. Not when I got Connor out of all of it. And besides, back then, I wasn't good for anyone, not for Finn, not for you, especially not for myself. I spent my entire childhood rushing headlong into adulthood and the closer I got, the more I panicked and it took me years to straighten that out in my head."

And yeah, he guesses that makes sense. It's not like he was in a better space himself, hell, he spent the second semester of senior year self-medicating with as much pot as he could get his hands on. (Sandy Ryerson never could resist a sob story.) Schue was right, regrets are pointless. But he's got to ask all the same. "What about now?" he asks, pushing her hair behind her ear.

She looks up with this adorably hopeful look all over her face. "Now? Now I'm sort of hoping for all of it."

That's good enough for him, and he rolls her underneath him and starts kissing that spot behind her ear that makes her squirm. She hooks one leg around his thigh and ass, pulling him closer and he grins against her skin.

"I think we can work with that," he tells her.

* * *

><p>He's like ten minutes from leaving work and already starting to think about the fastest way to get across town because Rachel's making that kale and cheese thing again (who knew leafy green vegetables could be so fucking delicious) when Josh shows up with the bad news.<p>

"She's on a retreat?" Puck asks incredulously as he stares at his assistant. "How the hell is our best back-up singer on a retreat? When is she coming back? Production starts in two weeks and I need her hippy-dippy ass _here_."

Josh shrugs. "Sounded like she might be gone for a couple months, but I'm not sure. All I know is that she's at an organic farm somewhere south of Portland and unreachable by phone. Her roommate said something about about not disturbing the cosmic balance. Or maybe it was karmic balance. I didn't quite catch the whole thing."

"Well, hell," he says, pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to soothe away the headache that is already starting to form. "That is not good news."

"No, it definitely is not," Josh agrees. "How many singers do you think we went through on the first album?"

Shit, he doesn't even know. It seemed like an endless stream of demo tapes that Jared Lofts nixed, auditions that went nowhere and studio sessions that ended badly. Bliss Somerset might smell like patchouli and dress like it's still the Summer of Love, but she has the voice of an angel and he knows he was lucky to find her the first time. That said, if she's going to be off milking goats or harvesting artisan greens or whatever the hell you do on an organic farm, she's not going to be much use to him. Frankly, the prospect of starting over is kind of horrifying.

"He did specifically ask for her, you know," Josh says gloomily. "And don't forget, he's got female vocals penned in for at least three tracks."

Puck winces. "I'll let him know. That'll be fun."

"Riiiight," Josh snorts. "Look, I can start pulling together a list of possibles. I'm pretty sure I remember who he refused to work with last time."

"That part shouldn't be hard considering that he turned down ninety percent of the people we usually work with. But yeah, go ahead and then we'll see who's available and have them come in for demos next week."

"All right, boss. You be sure to enjoy that phone-call."

_Phone-call._ That reminds him, he's got to call Rach because...hold on. _Rachel_.

"Thanks. You're a real friend, jackass," he says automatically, thinking rapidly. "Hey, listen. I've...um...I've got a name to add to the list."

Shit, he's never done anything like this. He works really hard to make sure that his personal life and his work life have as few points of contact as possible. But in this case...

Josh perks up. "Oh yeah? Someone new? Who has she worked with?"

"No one you know, but trust me, she's got the chops."

"With you vouching for her? I'm sure she does. You think Jared will like her, though?"

That's the million dollar question, isn't it? "He'd be crazy not to, but who knows?"

"So what's her name?" Josh asks, pen in hand.

It's a struggle to say it casually. "Rachel Berry."

* * *

><p>On the day she's scheduled to come in he brings her to the cafe around the corner because of course she's early and unless she's changed, she's got this pre-performance routine: lukewarm herbal tea and honey and a series of discreet vocal exercises. (He's absurdly gratified to find out he's exactly right.)<p>

"Noah, what in the world am I doing here?" she asks in between deep, cleansing breaths.

"Hydrating?" he suggests.

"I mean it!" she exclaims, sipping her tea and sort of sloshing it around in the back of her throat in a way that should be gross, but just isn't.

If Jared actually likes her? "Saving my ass, that's what."

"I sincerely doubt that," she says with a furrow on her brow that he has this insane urge to smooth out. "Noah, this isn't because...," she trails off, looking around but no one is anywhere near their little table.

He leans in, lets his voice go low in a way he _knows_ she likes. "Because? You mean because I broke you last night?"

She rolls her eyes at him. "You hardly broke me."

"After the third orgasm, you could barely speak for twenty minutes, so I'm pretty sure I did," he smirks. Hey, all in the service of preserving her vocal cords, right?

"Gloating is never gentlemanly behavior," she says primly. "And besides, I returned the favor."

Why yes, she did. More than once. _Mmmmm_. Where's an empty supply closet when you need it?

"Are you avoiding my question?" she continues and he's starting to realize that she's actually worried about this.

"Are you really _asking_ me that question, Rachel?" he asks. "Baby, you know how seriously I take my job. Do you actually think I'd recommend you for something I didn't think you could do?"

"No, of course not. But it's been so long since I sang in any sort of performance context and I can't help being nervous."

Here's the thing about Rachel. She's in a good place right now, but he knows that while she likes teaching, even the kids in third period, even Avery Powell and her scorn for scales, she doesn't _love_ it. So he'll push a little bit, mostly because that's the kind of guy he is.

"Rach, the thing you've got to realize is that Jared has more talent than almost anyone I know, but he's kind of a fucktard. If he wants to work with you, you'll know it. If he doesn't, you'll know that too." He'll leave out the part where it's his ass on the line if the new album never comes out because she in no way needs _that_ pressure on top of her nerves. "So, you know, why not? It's gotta be worth a shot, right? You want to decide not to audition, that's okay too, but just remember that no one can belt it on the fly like you can."

That's enough. He can open a door, but it's up to her to step through.

"Well, of course I'm going to _audition_," she says, looking at him like he's stupid. "I just wanted to make sure...I don't want to disappoint you."

Her '_again_' is unspoken, but he hears it loud and clear.

He stares at her for a minute and the word 'crazy' is floating through her head, but he knows she'd probably kick him under the table with those pointy little shoes if he lets it out. That shit hurts.

"Not gonna happen," he says finally. "No matter what."

"Okay," she says with a rush of breath. "It's almost time. Are you coming with me?"

He shakes his head. "Josh is running the demo sessions." He's sorely tempted to sit in on this one, of course, but things being what they are, it's probably best not to.

"Good," she says crisply. "I want to be judged on my talent, not because of who my boyfriend is." (It's stupid how much he likes the sound of the word '_boyfriend_' coming from Rachel's lips.) "I'll take a kiss for luck though."

He delivers and then goes for a little discrete ass-grab while he's at it, since that's _also_ the kind of guy he is.

* * *

><p>"How'd she do?" he asks Josh casually, after waiting as long as he possibly can. Which turns out to be like forty-five minutes after Rachel leaves the building.<p>

"Huh? Who?" Josh asks, looking up from the sound board absently.

"Rachel," he says, trying really, really hard not to grit his teeth.

Josh's eyes brighten. "Oh yeah! Damn, that's a hell of a voice. Very professional too. I think Jerry's got a full-blown crush on her."

"Jerry? The accompanist? Wouldn't be the first time," he mumbles. He's totally convinced that Brad carried a torch for Rachel for years. Why the hell else was the dude _always_ sitting around waiting to play something? He waves off Josh's inquiring look. "You send the demo over to Jared?"

"Yeah along with the other three. Think we'll hear back soon?"

Fuck, he hopes so.

* * *

><p>He catches the phone call as he steps into his apartment later that week and sighs when he checks the display. Ma. <em>Again.<em> And sure, he loves his mother, but they've never felt the need to live in each other's pocket. She visits once a year and he calls her every week and never forgets to send her flowers on Mother's Day or her birthday and they're both pretty good with that. So this new thing where she's calling him every other day is a little freaky and quickly moving straight into annoying. He thinks longingly about the ignore button, but it's not worth the guilt trip...not yet, anyway.

"Yeah Ma?"

"Is that how you answer the phone, Noah? What if this had been your boss calling?"

Is it worth trying to explain the concept of caller ID again? No, probably not and anyway, she's still talking.

"I was speaking with Rabbi Wiseman after the Temple capital fund meeting and he sends his best."

Sure he did. After the Chanukah candle incident of 2011 (otherwise known as the reason why Temple Beth Israel-Shaare Zedek _needs _a capital fund in the first place) he's going to take that one with a grain of salt.

"Would you believe that the Bergers are having _another _baby? You know that's their third in four years. And the Leiberman boy is finally home from college. Such a pity your sister never liked him."

Is she planning on giving him an update on _everyone _in the entire community? (Revenge for the ATM? You tell him.)

"Ma, I'd talk but I'm kinda in a hurry. Rachel and Connor are coming over and I need time to throw all my dirty laundry in the closet." Actually that's a lie because he keeps things neat but it's totally worth it just her hear her lose her shit over it. Today for some reason she's not taking the bait.

"You've been seeing a lot of Rachel, then?" she asks.

"You know I have," he says with a grunt. "I haven't exactly been hiding it." You know what? Maybe he should be _making_ time for this conversation, because it's obviously overdue. "So what gives, Ma? First you don't say shit about Rachel's divorce and don't bother telling me that you didn't know anything, because I'm not buying it. And then you're giving out all these cryptic pronouncements like it's your job suddenly when you ought to be throwing a damn party. I figured you'd be happy, no, _over the moon_that Rachel and I are together."

She pauses so long he almost figures he dropped the call. Reticence is not her thing.

"I've known Rachel for a very long time, ever since she moved to Lima with her fathers. I watched her grow into a lovely young woman and at the same time I saw you on a path that was certainly bumpier but nonetheless produced a young man that I'm very proud to call my son. To tell the truth, it has often crossed my mind that you were the better man for Rachel. Carole and I even had words about it once if you can imagine that."

Imagine it? He'd pay good cash money to see it-from a safe distance of course: say, Columbus or thereabouts.

"But I watched Finn Hudson over the years too, right here in this house for much of it and somehow he's always seemed like a boy to me. Sweet and well-meaning at times, but quick to pick up a new toy and quick to discard it. The thing you need to consider Noah, is that he may be a boy, but he's not a bad one and sooner or later he's going to reappear in his son's life and in Rachel's too. And I wonder what will happen then."

"Finn is Connor's dad," he says stiffly. "He's always going to be in their lives."

"But to what extent? A thousand miles might make a thing seem insubstantial, but I assure you, it can be very real. Are you going to be able to accept that?"

"Ma...," he starts.

"I just don't want you to get hurt, Noah."

"Ma, I gotta go. Really."

"I just want you to think about it."

Well shit, he's not going to be able to do much else now, is he?

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Don't be too mad with Mama P (or me)! This is truly something that the Puck and Rachel in this story would have to deal with. Comments or questions? I'd love to hear from you. ** _


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: Thank you so much for your patience over the long wait! I hope posting the last two chapters at once will make up for it a little! ** _

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>Being in the studio is amazing on all sorts of different levels. For one thing, she's very excited to see Noah's workplace. Chances are she would have come in at some point anyway, met him there after work or stopped by with lunch on a weekend when he had to go in, but being behind the scenes is like getting a sneak peek a part of him she doesn't know all that well. She has to admit that she's definitely curious about what he does and has been for a while. Aviva and Sarah let a lot of little tidbits fall at Temple over the years and she has an excellent memory.<p>

One thing that absolutely _never_ shocked her was how well he's done for himself. He was always willing to put time and effort into something he was passionate about, whether it was a song arrangement, football or even pursuing a girl. So this, working with musicians, helping them develop their artistic vision, mastering the complex skills that go into creating the finished product, it seems perfect for him and frankly, there's something very sexy about a man who's good at what he does.

Not to mention that scanning the office doors over to the left and trying to guess which one belongs to him is an excellent distraction. She wasn't lying when she told him she was nervous.

She shouldn't be because in the great scheme of things this isn't a big deal. Well, not musically speaking anyway. To be quite honest, this is the kind of swaying-in-the-back harmonizing that she might very well have thrown a fit about being assigned back in high school. Now? Back-ground singers are a dime a dozen, although from what she gathers this artist has some very specific ideas about what he's looking for. With or without her contributions, Noah will find someone and the new album will come out.

_But_.

She's had Jared's first album on replay for days, and it may not be Broadway but it's imaginative, well thought out, well constructed music with influences borrowed from dozens of different genres.

And being part of something special makes you special. (She remembers.)

Josh, who gives her a tour of the sound booth and explains every step, is sweet, as is the accompanist, who for some reason reminds her of Brad. And it feels really good to sing again outside of providing instruction or trying to put a small person to sleep. She does three takes, with Josh asking her to make small changes between each one and then she's done. Everyone smiles and tells her that she's done a wonderful job, but for all she knows, they say that to everyone.

She leaves in time to make it back to her afternoon classes and has a perfectly normal day. Teaching and students and picking up Connor and making dinner and it's almost like the morning's interlude didn't happen. She tells herself it's not a let-down.

* * *

><p>She manages, <em>barely<em>, to refrain from grilling Noah about it on the nights he's able to get away over the next few days. Mostly, of course, she doesn't want to put him in an awkward position, but also his workload is starting to pick up quite a bit and she wants to save their alone time for the important things. Dinner together, even if it has to warmed up after Connor has gone to sleep and laughing over some ridiculous movie on late-night television, or even just talking. And yes, also lots of orgasms. Luckily, Connor sleeps very soundly.

(Noah breathing out 'baby' softly against her collarbone, pulling one of her thighs higher up along his hip and thrusting sharply while she arches up to meet him. Her pebbled nipples dragging along his chest, and the sound he makes when she licks a stripe along his neck and scrapes her teeth along his earlobe. Tightening around him, his thumb circling her clit, but never quite enough to until she moans and guides his hand to where she needs it. Finally falling over the edge with him, the weight of him pressing into her the mattress feeling like the only real thing in the world.)

It's almost enough to distract her from the fact that its been a _week_ and she still hasn't heard anything.

Friday is an absolutely hellacious day.

There's a rip in her favorite pair of tights, she has to comb through the small apartment twice to find her shoes and Connor is so excited to get to school he runs off through the classroom door without a backward glance. (That last one is a good thing of course, but still, there's a definite pang there.)

Her students are all over the place, mostly running on at length about tonight's dance and every time she tries to pull their attention back to tempo, key and meter, it invariably slips back into dresses, dating and after-parties. Not for the first time since she started teaching, she understands what Mr. Schuester went through with all of them.

"Come on, Ms. B. It's the first dance of the year," Henry Finch (decent bari-tenor but needs work on his articulation) says coaxingly. "You must remember what it was like. I mean for a teacher, you're..."

She give him a look and he flushes and trails off in confusion, but Emma Davies (mid-range alto, good breath control) picks up where he left off.

"Henry's right. Everyone thinks you're really pretty, Ms. B. You must have gone to loads of dances when you were our age."

One or two. Not particularly experiences she wants to re-live.

"I went to a few," she says dampeningly, "But none of them are likely to help with the pop quiz on musical notation that I may feel like giving next week."

That certainly ends the conversation, only, ugh, now she's remembering Junior Prom and Jessie and Finn shoving each other like a pair of children fighting over a shiny new toy.

_Finn. Oh crap._

There's an immediate sinking feeling in her stomach because he's called her three times in the last four days and she either hasn't had a chance to return any of his calls or when she has had a chance, she's been preoccupied. She doesn't even have the excuse of distance: he's back in the States as of last week, which presumably should have made the time differences easier to navigate. Even if he's just calling to confirm the holiday plans again (Burt and Carole purchased airline tickets for Connor and herself back in July) she has a responsibility to her son to return calls in a timely manner. What makes it even worse is that there's no question in her mind that she would be _livid_ if the situation was reversed.

She can't get away until her lunch break, but when she tries him, his phone is off and of course she's thinking about it the rest of the day, which doesn't improve her mood.

By the time she's picked up Connor and the two of them head over to Noah's place, she's left several messages of her own and even considered calling Burt and Carole, just to make sure it's not an emergency, but she doesn't want to put them in the middle of it.

Fine. There's nothing she can do about it now, so clearly the best thing to do is put it out of her mind and enjoy her evening with Noah.

* * *

><p>"Those peppers do anything to offend you, Rach?" Noah asks in her ear.<p>

She looks guiltily down at the cutting board where she's gone quite a bit beyond coarsely chopped. All right, so maybe _completely _forgetting about it was a tad unrealistic.

"It's been a rough day," she admits. "I guess I'm taking out my aggressions on our dinner."

He glances back to the living-room where Connor is engrossed in coloring and then slides his warm palm along her stomach. "Rough day, huh? I can help you with that," he rumbles and she smiles. She loves how careful he is around Connor both with his language and his, well, _physical affection_, for lack of a better term, even if she's already had the g-rated discussion with her son about what constitutes dating. Connor's reaction? To ask for another date with Gracie, which then prompts further explanation about the difference between a play-date and a date-date. She's still not sure if he's convinced.

"I know you can," she says, leaning back into him slightly when his other hand comes to rest on her hip. "But for now, maybe you should finish setting the table, otherwise we'll never eat. You're much too distracting." She twists in his arms, plants a quick kiss on his lips and lightly pushes him back.

"Spoilsport," he teases, grabbing the stack of plates on the counter as he goes. "Anyway, I wasn't talking about that." She definitely catches him mumbling '_not yet anyway_,' under his breath as he turns towards the table. "How come your day sucked? Kids getting out of hand? I could stop by and strike a little terror into their little high school hearts if you need me to. Pretty sure I've still got it," he grins.

She snorts. (But honestly, he still does). "That won't be necessary and besides, I don't have any interest in peeling the female half of the student body off the floor off the floor the minute you walk by." Not to mention the female staff: he is ridiculously handsome.

"You're right, it probably wouldn't be fair," he says thoughtfully, ducking with a laugh as she throws a dish-towel at his head. "I know, I know, enough about how hot I am. Now spill."

So she tells him about all the petty annoyances of the day while she throws the ingredients for the stir-fry into the hot pan. She pauses for a moment when she finally gets to Finn. He's not a sore point between them, in fact, they rarely talk about him at all, and maybe that's why it feels so strange right now. But now it feels even stranger to be hesitating so she just launches right into the whole story.

"Oh yeah?" he says neutrally when she trails off, and it's stupid, but she immediately feels defensive.

"I know! I feel awful about it, but I've been incredibly busy with school and getting Connor settled in at school and...and..."

"And me," he suggests.

"Yes, and you," she almost snaps, stirring the vegetables and tofu vigorously. "Why not you? You are my boyfriend after all and a big part of my life. You take up a lot of my time but that doesn't mean it's necessarily unwelcome." She turns off the stove and turns to find him with his hands dug in his pockets and a curious expression on his face.

"Boyfriend, huh?" he says.

She nibbles on her bottom lip. "Is that a problem?"

"No," he says quickly. "Not at all. _Definitely _not a problem." He rubs a hand nervously along the back of his scalp. "I guess I've just been wondering what you've told people about us."

People? Where is he going with this? "I told you what Connor's response was, right?" she asks.

His face brightens for a second. "You said. I'm telling you Rach, you're going to have to look out for those two in another ten years or so."

Hmmph. She doesn't want to think about that. "And Daddy knows." Noah doesn't need to know exactly how _much _Daddy knows. She really needs to stop over-sharing. "Are you asking about...Finn?"

He shrugs and turns away, grabbing the glasses from the cupboard above the sink. "Never mind, it's not a big deal. S'none of my business anyway."

"I told him," she says quietly, checking to make sure that Connor is still engaged in the living room. "I told him we were together."

(_The pause is so long she thinks she's lost the call until finally Finn asks, 'Together? Together as in boyfriend-girlfriend or just in the same room together?_ _Because '_together'_ can have a lot of different meanings, Rachel._')

"Bet that went over big," Noah says evenly.

(_Good lord, does he really need a definition? "We're dating," she grits out_.)

"Truthfully, I think he was more confused than anything else," she replies.

(_'So let me get this straight. You're dating Puck? Noah Puckerman from Lima, Ohio?_ _That Puck?_')

"I'll bet," Noah snorts.

('_Finn Hudson if you don't stop saying '_Puck_' in that singularly stupid tone of voice, we're going to have words_!')

"Noah, It's not like he gets a vote or anything, but since the three of us are spending a lot of time together as a..." She barely catches herself before she finishes that sentence with '_family_' and she can feel a flush start to rise on her cheeks. "...as a group..." _A group?_Ugh, that was awkward. "...I thought he should know about us."

"Oh," he replies just as quietly and when she moves to grab a serving bowl, he snags her around the waist and kisses her softly, one hand sliding up her back and brushing the ends of her hair and she's breathless by the time he pulls back.

"What was that all about?" she asks, even if she's not sure if she means the game of twenty questions or the kiss or both. He looks like he's about to say something, only Connor is suddenly bouncing around the kitchen singing a song about carrots and complaining that he's hungry _right now_ and Bunny is too and between that, helping Noah bring the food to the table and locating two cold beers and a juice box from the refrigerator, she gets distracted. (_Again._She should totally go back to her post-it note system no matter how silly it looks to have tiny slips of paper fluttering around everywhere.)

And maybe she was imagining it because later, when Connor has jumped and played and sang himself into an exhausted heap on the couch and she and Noah are sharing the chair (it's a little crowded with her perched on his lap, but neither of them seem to mind) he doesn't have anything to say. Instead he's got one arm snagged around her waist while he traces tiny patterns along her bare knee with his other hand.

"Noah!" she says with half a laugh, stilling his hand because it _tickles_.

"There's another one," he says with satisfaction, sliding his fingertips up her side to rest just below her rib cage.

"Another what?" she asks, giggling and swatting him.

"I'm figuring out all your spots," he says, grinning wickedly. "It'll probably take a while."

She really likes the sound of that and she's about to tell him exactly how much when his phone rings.

"Sorry baby," he says, sliding out from under her, with an apologetic pat on her bottom. "I've really got to take that one." He grabs his phone and heads out into the kitchen where she can hear him say, 'Jared! I haven't heard from you all week. What's up?'

Luckily for her integrity before she's tempted to listen in, her son begins to stir. She crosses over to him and rubs his back gently while tucking Bunny into his side. Still mostly asleep, he sighs and settles back into the couch cushion and he's right on the edge of deep sleep again when her own phone rings. Groaning inwardly, she yanks it out of her handbag and answers as quickly and quietly as she can, hoping it doesn't disturb Connor.

"Hello?"

"Rachel? It's me. I've got a favor to ask."

It takes her a minute to understand him. In fact, he has to repeat his request twice and she's still dumbfounded, even as she automatically writes the address down. She's staring down at her phone, trying to force her brain to start moving again when Noah rushes back into the room, too excited to be quiet.

"Rach! That was Jared! He heard the demos and you're the one he wants! And wait, it gets better! The reason he hasn't been returning calls is because he spent all week writing three new songs. And yeah, that basically means I'm _totally_ screwed because we're supposed to be in the studio next week, but never mind that. He wants to _feature_ _you_. That means album credit and not just a line on the notes. It means an audience, a _national _audience if this album goes over half as well as I think it's going to. It may not be Broadway, but this could be the start of something, Rachel!"

"_Me_?" she gasps, half incredulous and half exhilarated.

"Of course, _you_!" he laughs. "I told you California would be good for you. Hey do you think you can make some time this weekend to come in for introductions and maybe a quick run-through? And after that we can work around your schedule as much as possible. Connor's too." He grinds to a halt and a faintly queasy expression crosses his face. "I mean, you are going to do it, aren't you? Because if not, I've got a lot of organic farms near Portland to start combing through. No pressure, though."

"Am I going to do it? Just try to stop me!" she blurts out. She _knows _she can do this and judging by his expression, Noah does too.

"We should celebrate!" he says, "I haven't got any champagne but we could split the last beer and hey! You should call your dad!" He looks down at the phone and the little notebook still clutched in her hand. "Was that him on the phone?"

For the second time that day, her stomach is doing a swan-dive and she blinks. "No. No, that was Finn. He lost his wallet and he needs me to pick him up at the bus station."

On the couch beside her, Connor pushes himself up. "Daddy's here?" he squeaks excitedly. "I want Daddy!"

Would now be a good time for a (strictly internal) curse word?

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN: Hmmm. I suspect many of you may have let loose with a curse word or two at that! As always, thank you so much for reading and I'd love to know what you think!_**


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Well this is it! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. You really are the best and I can't tell you how much I've appreciated your enthusiasm and support!**_

* * *

><p>if I could tell you<p>

* * *

><p>Well, fuck.<p>

The four of them are in a car headed for the Travelodge on Lombard Street. His (newly official) girlfriend. Her ex-husband who happens to be his ex-best-friend. Their kid who in _everyone's_ opinion is pretty damn awesome. And what is _he_ doing here, exactly? He's not sure how it all happened, only when Rachel took his hand and asks him to come with them, it seemed completely natural to follow her out his apartment door without thinking too hard about it.

He'd say it was awkward but with Connor strapped into his car seat holding a bear almost a big as he is and talking at about one hundred miles an hour (no prizes for guessing who he inherited that particular trait from) there's not really any opportunity for things to get weird. Or weirder than they already are anyway.

Connor is still listing every single feature of life in San Francisco ('_There's the big red bridge, the giant boat you can ride on, the bad fountain that made me fall in and then Noah fell in and he bled, Daddy. I didn't bleed but I got all wet and Mommy said we were both brave_.') when they pull into the lot.

"We're here," Rachel says with totally faked cheerfulness, her hands still tightly gripping the steering wheel and her mouth in a tight line and it's definitely shitty that he's relieved to see how pissed she is about Finn showing up unannounced like this. And also, he's not going to lie, he's pleased as hell that Finn is staying here and not on Rachel's sofa.

"Nice place," he says, looking at the sign by the road. "Look: cable TV _and_ air-conditioning." Yeah, he should watch the sarcasm.

"It's not the Marriott," Finn shrugs as they walk towards the office, "But it'll do for a while." He sweeps a giggling Connor up in his arms. "You like that bear, little man? Daddy rode with that in the seat next to him all the way from Columbus!"

Rachel stiffens slightly at his side at that and somewhere, somehow, he's absolutely sure that his mother is calling him a schmuck right now.

He ends up putting the hotel room on his credit-card which he doesn't think anyone (Finn) is happy about, but hell, if Finn is going to leave his wallet in the restroom of some truck-stop outside Reno, he's lucky that anyone (Puck) is willing to pick up the tab.

Then the four of them (again, fucked up, right?) go to the room and he plays a cartoon for Connor on his phone while Finn and Rachel 'discuss' the situation in the bathroom. And no, he's not eavesdropping but after a few minutes it starts to get kind of loud.

"Well, I would have let you know if you took my calls. Totally not cool, Rachel!"

"I didn't answer my phone for four days, Finn. Four days! And in that time you decide to come across the country and surprise us all!"

"Who exactly is '_us_ _all_'? Connor seemed to think it was a pretty good surprise. Jesus Christ, Rachel, I missed my son! And don't start because I know it was my idea, but I didn't realize how hard it was going to be not seeing him."

"Of course it's hard! But you showing up on a whim with a big teddy bear isn't going to change that! He needs security and stability!"

"Get off your high horse, Rachel! Are we talking about the kind of stability you gave him when _you _decided to move out here on a whim?"

"_A whim_?"

Shit. This is going south fucking quick. He sneaks a quick glance at Connor, who still seems to be concentrating on the show, and then crosses the small room and opens the bathroom door to join the two of them.

Finn shoots one irritated look at him and mutters, "Oh great, it's Puck the _boyfriend_."

He lifts one brow. "More like the babysitter this second. And take it from me, it's getting a little noisy if you know what I mean." Rachel's hand flies up to her mouth as she immediately brushes past him on her way to Connor. "Maybe you two should continue this tomorrow," he says to Finn, who's leaning on the vanity, pinching the bridge of his nose and suddenly looking every day and then some of his twenty-seven years.

He moves to follow Rachel out when Finn stops him. "Hold up a minute," he says, still not making eye contact. "Connor was saying something earlier about falling in a fountain. Did he get hurt?"

Puck shakes his head quickly. "No. It wasn't deep and we got him out right away. Nothing a change of clothes couldn't fix. And honestly, Rachel didn't look all that surprised."

Finn smiles briefly. "Yeah, he gets into stuff all the time. Mom more or less said we were screwed when he started walking at ten months."

"He sure doesn't stop for much, does he?" Puck offers back with a grin and there's just a second where they could be laughing together over some of the crazy shit Bieste used to say or Schue's sweater-vests but then they both hear Rachel's bright voice just outside the bathroom door and the moment passes.

"So I suppose I'll be seeing you around," Finn says with a careless shrug.

He throws around a couple of possible responses in his head because chances are that this is exactly the kind of male posturing crap he never used to be able to resist responding to. This isn't high school, though.

"Yeah, you probably will," he says, offering his hand, even if he has to grit his teeth a little.

After a short pause Finn shakes it.

That's probably a good thing.

* * *

><p>They drive back to Rachel's place and he carries a sleeping Connor up the four flights of stairs. Rachel pulls back the covers and he slips him into his bed and the whole thing is so reminiscent of the first night the two of them arrived on his doorstep that his chest aches a little. He didn't want to lose her then, even if it had been years, even if truthfully he had never really had her in the first place.<p>

And now? Rachel turns to him and lit by the glow of the small bedside lamp, she's absolutely the most beautiful thing he's ever seen and if he spent most of his stupid high school years half-crazy about her, he's _all _in now. He's in love with her and it's going to be one fucked-up twist of fate if he's finally admitted it to himself only to have it all fall to pieces in his hands now.

She tucks herself under his arm. "Can you stay tonight?" she asks quietly. "The whole night, I mean?"

The thing is, all respect to his mother and her worries, he's kind of thinking that it isn't _going _to fall apart.

He leans down and brushes his lips along her hairline. "Yeah baby, I can," he replies.

They crawl into her bed together and she's practically half asleep by the time her head hits the pillow, so he just fits himself against her back, one hand spread out on the warm skin of her stomach and then lets his own eyes close. Don't tell anyone, but this is good too.

Of course he doesn't mean he objects when she wakes him up in the middle of the night with her hand stroking up and down his cock and a wicked little smile visible in the moonlight streaming in through the window.

"I'm going to sing on an album, right?" she demands breathily, twisting her wrist gently as he hardens underneath her fingers. "I didn't just dream that part, did I?"

"No, you didn't dream it," he lets out a sharp laugh that turns into a groan when her thumb swipes over the head. "That gets you going, doesn't it?"

"A little bit," she admits. "But you do too, Noah."

"Good," he grunts, leaning over her, pushing up her shirt and dragging his tongue across her nipple and then blowing a quick puff of air across it. "Let's test that out."

They do.

* * *

><p>The whole situation doesn't necessarily get less strange. He supposes they all just get used to it. Shit, they kind of have to because after a few days it becomes clear that Finn isn't going anywhere anytime soon, or at least that's what he takes away from the fact that the man bought a juicer and a sandwich press and installed them in his hotel bathroom. ("You <em>know<em>I get hungry at night, dude.")

He knows this because he's _there_. A lot. Apparently Connor likes having all his grown-ups around and honestly, he's too flattered at being considered one of them to argue. Also it probably helps to have a buffer around whenever Finn and Rachel are in the same room. He can tell they're both working on it, but every so often Finn starts saying stupid shit and Rachel started getting that pinched, closed-off look. (Or-and he'll deny this to his dying day because he's not a moron-or the other way around.)

And fine, he'll cop to it, he starts out by being kind of jealous too. In his head he knows that if they wanted to be together, they would be. Hell, they've got one of the best reasons in the world to try to work things out and they just _couldn't_, so that should be the end of the story. But Finn and Rachel were together for a long-ass time and he wanted her for most of that time and it's not easy to let that go, even if he knows he should. Especially since now more that ever he'd argue that the two of them have as much heat together as a box full of puppies does. Sure, passion isn't the only thing, but it's fucking important, okay?

The jealousy thing, he's working on it.

Even if they're both polite to each other and shit, it still surprises him when Finn calls him up at after a long day at the studio and asks him if he wants to go out for a beer. What he really wants to do is catch Rachel before she falls asleep, but she's already warned him that she's got a pile of progress reports to get through. So he finds himself in some hole-in-the-wall bar near Finn's hotel, which actually seems a lot better the minute he finds out that they've got pitchers of IPA for twelve bucks. No question, this is going to go a little smoother with beer.

He's already sitting at a table in the back and when Puck walks over and slides into the seat opposite him.

Finn launches into it immediately, tapping his fingers and jiggling his foot under the table. "Look Puck, I told Rachel already but I just figured I should let you know that I'm sticking around. Long term, I mean. I actually looked at a couple of places this afternoon."

So much for small talk. And hell, if they're putting shit on the table he might as well ask. "Is that a heads-up or a warning?"

Finn shrugs. "A heads-up." And then after a pause: "_And_ maybe a warning too."

The waitress arrives with the pitcher and two glasses and they both drink in silence for a minute.

"Do you want her back?" he asks finally.

"Who, Rachel? Um, no," Finn says, now shredding his beer mat with long, nervous fingers. "I figure we already had our shot."

No shit. More than once is what he's thinking.

"You know last year I thought I finally had it all figured out," Finn continues. "Things were going good with my music and I really got my head turned by this idea that I was going to famous, you know, hit it big. But dude, life on tour _sucks_. It's all crappy hotel rooms, and twenty-four seven with the same three guys and the only time you have a minute to yourself is in the can. Do you know how many bathrooms I had to call Connor from this summer? And then you get back and realize that you have to do it all over again."

Now he might see the music business from another side, but he sure as hell knows what Finn is talking about. For a band just trying to get their name out there, the pace is brutal and beyond talent and luck you've got to be willing to get on that ride for the long haul. "Not what you thought it was going to be?"

"No. I still want to play my music. And I'm still writing some. But god, all this time and I _still_ don't know what the hell I want to do when I grow up." He shakes his head. "Or actually, I kind of know. I want to be a good dad and maybe some guys can, but _I_ can't be if I'm thousands of miles away from Connor on tour all the time."

Puck drains his beer and looks Finn square in the eye. "You don't have any plans to try and convince Rachel and Connor to move back to Lima, do you?"

Finn chokes. "Hell no! For one thing, I wouldn't be looking for a place if that was the case. For another, I don't think Rachel would go back there if I tried."

"So what's the warning about then?" he asks, trying to sound casual.

"You know, when I heard you and Rachel were dating, I didn't like it all that much," Finn admits.

"That's not a huge surprise," he snorts. "I didn't expect you to throw the two of us a party."

"Probably not," Finn says candidly. "I'm probably not ever going to be super crazy about the idea of Rachel with someone else and you've got to admit that there's been some fairly messed up history where the three of us are concerned."

That's putting it mildly. The Gleeks had more plot twists than one of Schue's telenovelas. (He's still not sure how those got into the approved curriculum.)

"True," he says firmly. "But just in case you're thinking it, I'm not seventeen any more and I'm not going to agree to stay away from her because you don't want anyone else to have her."

Finn rolls his eyes and pours out the last of the beer from the pitcher into their glasses. "I'm not asking you to, dumb-ass. She likes you and for some reason I never really understood, she always did. Just don't screw it up."

He can't help it, his mouth twitches and then he starts laughing uncontrollably, clutching at the table for support. "This is coming from the expert, right?"

"_Exactly_," Finn grins as he waves to the waitress. "Hey, can we get another pitcher of beer over here?"

* * *

><p>So it turns out that Finn is just another new part of the pattern to adjust to and maybe not even the most challenging part.<p>

There's work and the excitement and stress of dealing with a highly-anticipated upcoming album. There's the thrill of seeing Rachel slide seamlessly into that part of his life. (Jared loves her to the point where he's only insisting on three or four separate arrangements per song. Hell, at this rate, the bastard might even crack a smile.) There's his mother who's still slowing coming around to the idea that her single greatest dream from the years 2006 to 2012 might just be on the verge of happening. There's his sister who's calling to bitch that she'll never finish her degree if their mother doesn't stop calling her to talk about that possibility.

There's him who still hasn't let Rachel in on the fact that he's in love with her. That would probably be a good thing to get right on. You know, if he ever gets her alone again.

"Hi babe," he says with a surprised grin as Rachel breezes into his office. "What are you doing here so early? I didn't expect you until six."

(Fuck. It's like she can read minds or something. That's both awesome and terrifying.)

"I didn't think you'd mind," she says, perching on the edge of his desk with a flirty smile. "The band teacher said he'd cover my last period study-hall and Finn is picking up Connor from school today and taking him to the aquarium, so here I am. I was hoping I could tempt you away for a late lunch, or even a very early dinner."

"Mmmm, very good idea," he murmurs, pulling her closer, one hand sliding up her leg, thumb rubbing on the hem of her dress lightly, making her squirm. "What do you say to take-out?"

"Perfect," she breathes into his ear.

(Right. Terrific. Outstanding. Nothing holding him back now.)

They stop by this noodle cart that she loves that's only about a block away from where he works and the two of them sit in the shade on a city bench waiting for their order and this is it, he's not going to wait a second longer, he's just going to tell her flat out that he loves her.

Instead to his complete surprise, he says something totally different.

"Why didn't you call me?"

She looks at him strangely. "I called you this morning. And I left a message for you around 10:30 giving you my availability for that extra session that Jared wanted."

He licks his lips nervously, but fuck, now that he's said it he realizes that he really wants to know. "No, not this morning. Before you came here, before you got to San Francisco. It was only two years ago that I saw you in that supermarket in Lima. You knew I was here, you even had my address, so why didn't you call? Were you ever going to?"

She sighs and scuffs her flats on the sidewalk. "Noah, I was going to, only..." she begins and then falters and his heart sinks a little, but then she slips her hand into his and starts again. "Noah, when you saw me in that supermarket, I was an exhausted mess. I hadn't had a shower in two days and I had part of Connor's lunch all over my shirt, not to mention a truly tragic hair-cut. I wanted to look different. If I'm being honest, I wanted to _be _different."

"I didn't care about any of that, Rachel," he says, tightening his fingers around hers. "You looked the same as you did in high school to me. You looked _beautiful_."

"I know. That's exactly it. You weren't looking at the girl who was stuck in a boring job in a town she hated, or the girl who never finished her degree or except for Connor, hadn't smiled in way too long. You saw the Rachel Berry who was full of dreams and plans and enthusiasm and I wanted to see that girl again, too." She leans her head on his shoulder. "Seeing myself in your eyes that day changed things for me, or maybe it just sped up something that had been moving at a glacial pace."

"I love you." he blurts out.

(Of course. _Now _he's saying it)

She turns to him and her eyes are enormous and so fucking _hopeful_ that it would scare him if he didn't think he's looking at her in the exact same way. And then she practically _jumps_ on him and she's definitely kissing him in a way that's telling him that she's forgotten all about the fact that they're on a public street and he's not in much of a hurry to remind her otherwise. Because all of a sudden, he just _knows_. Knows for sure that she's every bit as much in love with him as he is with her and if this is stepping off a cliff, then all he can say is _bring it_.

Finally she pulls away, laughing and gasping all at once and he goes back in for just one more kiss and then says with confidence (and maybe just _a touch _of the old cockiness), "Well? Aren't you going to say it back?"

"What? That I love you?" she says and she's practically sparkling, looking back at him with every bit of the enthusiasm that he never managed to forget. "You _know _I do, Noah. But wouldn't it be more fun to take me home and get me to say it by taking my all clothes off?"

He stares at her for a minute before rasping out, "You know that makes me love you even more, right?"

"I thought it might," she purrs, pulling him up and off the bench and towards home.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: And we're done! Again, thank you so much for reading and your feedback is very much appreciated!**_


End file.
